


Take Me to the Sky

by XILVerify



Category: Firefly, K-pop, Serenity (2005), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Firefly Fusion, And Also Basically Everything That Doesn't Involve Killing Things, Blood and Injury, Clumsy Kim Namjoon | RM, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, De-Aged Characters, Firefly Quotes, Found Family, Gen, Grumpy Min Yoongi | Suga, Hurt Kim Taehyung | V, J-Hope For MVP Of This Entire Fic TBH, Jeon Jungkook Is Bad at Feelings, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope Is a Sweetheart, Kim Namjoon | Rap Monster & Min Yoongi | Suga Are Best Friends, Kim Seokjin | Jin & Kim Taehyung | V Are Siblings, Kim Seokjin | Jin Is a Good Hyung, Kim Taehyung | V Needs a Hug, Minor Violence, Or 5000, Somone Get This Child Therapy, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XILVerify/pseuds/XILVerify
Summary: Namjoon Kim is a veteran of the Spring Day Rebellion, who now, as the captain of the Butterfly-class starship Cipher, spends his days eking out a living wherever he can find it, even if it’s on the wrong side of the law at times. After a smuggling mission gone south, he and his ragtag crew take on a few passengers to earn some extra cash, unaware that one of them is hiding a dangerous secret...Crossover with Joss Whedon's "Firefly."Based onthese moodboards.





	1. Chapter 1

“Get in, give Dragon the goods, get out, get in, give Dragon the goods, get out, get in-“ A light smack to the arm pulls Namjoon out of his head and back into the present, and he glares without much heat at the shorter man keeping pace next to him as they stride down the dusty, bustling streets of the bazaar bordering the local space dock.

 

“You were mumbling to yourself again,” Yoongi says by way of explanation. “It was getting on my nerves.”

 

“Sorry,” Namjoon replies, running his fingers through his bleached hair agitatedly. “I’ll just… feel a whole better when we can close out this deal and get that cargo off my ship. I feel like it’s been burning a hole in the hull ever since we left Marado. You think J-Hope’s having any luck with passengers?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll have at least a couple by the time we get back. You know Hobi. He could charm the rust off iron,” Yoongi smirks, kicking a pebble out of his path as they pass by a vendor selling meat skewers. Namjoon doesn’t miss the lingering look his friend gives the sizzling, aromatic meat before he turns his attention back to the road. “First thing I’m doing with my cut when we get paid is buy ten of those things,” the shorter man mutters under his breath, and Namjoon is half-tempted to do the same. It’s been so long since he’s had real meat instead of the highly processed protein rations they usually eat.

 

“And lollipops?” Cookie pipes up hopefully from behind the two men, and Namjoon can’t suppress a fond grin at the teen’s ever-present sweet tooth.

 

“What, have you run out already?” he teases.

 

“Captain always says it’s good to have reserves,” Cookie retorts, a mite defensively.

 

“I hate it when you throw my own words back at me, brat,” Namjoon rolls his eyes, rounding a corner and sidestepping a suspicious puddle in the middle of the street. “Well, it’s your money, you can do what you want with it. I think I saw a candy stall two streets back, we can stop by there before we leave if you want.” 

 

“Yes!” The childlike enthusiasm in the boy’s voice is infectious, and Namjoon is still smiling even as they near the Dragon’s Lair, their current employer’s base of operations. A short man with a shaggy bowl haircut that nearly covers his eyes waves them inside the seedy tavern with the barrel of his pistol, where they’re ushered into a back office by a tall, stern-looking thug wearing a cowboy hat.

 

“You’re late.” The slender man in an ostentatious black and white striped suit standing behind the old, ornately carved desk doesn’t even look at the trio as they enter, absently running a perfectly manicured finger across the spine of one of the many books lining the shelves covering almost half the office walls. The long fringe of his hair – the bottom half of which is dyed a particularly garish shade of orange today, Namjoon notes – hides his expression from view. 

 

Namjoon rolls his eyes toward the ceiling momentarily. This is shaping up to be One of Those Days. “Bullshit.”

 

Dragon finally turns to face them, eyes narrowed in such a way that usually precludes the sudden exchange of bullets. “Excuse me?”

 

“You know as well as I do that we landed more than an hour ahead of schedule,” Namoon retorts, threading a hint of steel through his voice. He’s in no mood for Dragon’s usual brand of BS today. “With all the goods you sent us after intact to boot. You’re putting us on the defensive right up front by saying we’re late, which means something’s up. Nothing went wrong on our end, so how about we start this conversation over?”

 

The corners of Dragon’s mouth briefly lift upward in a mirthless smile as he settles himself behind the desk. “You’re later than I’d like, then.” The crime lord picks up a data sheet, holding the paper-thin piece of plastic up so the three smugglers can see the constant scrolling lines of text and images.

 

“See, if you'd gotten here sooner, you might've beaten the bulletin that came up saying a rogue vessel, classification ‘Butterfly,’ was spotted pulling illegal salvage on a derelict transport.”

 

Namjoon keeps the easy smile plastered firmly on his face despite the sinking sensation in his gut as he responds, “They didn’t ID us. Wouldn’t lead to you.”

 

“No, it wouldn’t.” Dragon reaches over to a plate on the edge of his desk piled high with crab legs and selects one, proceeding to crack the shell with the golden nutcracker that accompanies the dish. He looks back at Namjoon, dark eyes calculating and shrewd. “But a Republic sig on every molecule of that cargo just maybe might.” Namjoon can _feel_ the sharp aside glance Yoongi shoots him, and the look doesn’t go unobserved.

 

“Oh, you noticed that, did you? You were going to just hand over imprinted goods – goods that the feds are going to be looking for now – and leave me hanging?”

 

“We didn’t pick the cargo,” Namjoon retorts.

 

“And I didn’t flash my ass at the gorram law,” Dragon shoots back without missing a beat. “No deal.” Namjoon is just about to respond before a quiet, dangerously irate voice beats him to it.

 

“That isn’t fair.” The captain very carefully hides his shock at Cookie’s uncharacteristic outburst, glancing to his left to see the kid’s face set in a stony frown as he glares at the crime lord, his trigger finger twitching reflexively at his side.

 

“Crime and politics, little boy,” Dragon sneers derisively, popping the unshelled piece of crab meat in his mouth. “In our line of work, the situation is always… fluid.”

 

“The only fluid I see is the puddle of piss in front of us refusing to pay us our wage,” Yoongi snarls from Namjoon’s other side.  A look of pure rage flashes across Dragon’s face and he surges to his feet, half a dozen guns immediately training on the trio from all sides, from the secretary in the corner, to the thug just outside the door, to a couple more looking down from a grate in the ceiling. Cookie’s hand is on his own gun in an instant, and Yoongi’s arm flexes in such a way that Namjoon knows a knife is poised to slide out of his sleeve at any moment. Namjoon glares at Cookie until the boy reluctantly shoves his gun back in its holster, levels a similar glare at Yoongi who simply stares back at him unrepentantly, and then steps forward.

 

“It doesn’t have to go like this, Dragon. You know that cargo’s valuable. That’s why you sent us for it in the first place. So I can’t help but think something else is going on here.”

 

“What were you in the war?” Namjoon blinks at the sudden change of subject. “That big war you lost a few years back? You were predominantly in communications, right? They called you Monster. Voice of the Spring Day Rebellion. Thousands of kids left home to take up arms and die because of your words on the waves telling ‘em to fight, stand up for themselves, say ‘No’ to the big bad Republic. Now you got yourself a ship and you’re a captain instead. Only I think you’re still Monster inside. Still a soldier, still getting children to fight for you, still believing that things like honor and justice still matter in this line of work. Well, let me tell you something, Captain Kim.

 

He gets out from behind his desk and walks right up to Namjoon, not deterred in the least by the height difference between them. “You’re not a soldier anymore; you’re just a common scavenger, and those high and mighty ideals don’t mean _shit_ when you walk into a den of thieves and expect to do business. This is my den. And I didn’t get to where I am today by playing Russian roulette with the feds. If you fucked up, that’s your problem, not mine. I have better things to do with my time then coddle every single lowlife that can’t manage to do their job properly.

 

“Now, one of the border planets, on the other hand.” Dragon waves a hand flippantly as he leans his hip against his desk. “They tend to be more desperate than me. Of course, it’s entirely possible they may just decide to kill you instead. But if you stay here, I have a sneaking suspicion the Republic’ll be knocking at your door in short order. Call it a hunch.”

 

The two men stare each other down for a long moment before Namjoon abruptly turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, not even bothering to wait for Cookie and Yoongi to catch up. He knows if he stays one second longer, he’ll do something he’ll regret.

 

He just hopes their pilot is having better luck then they are right now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

J-Hope adjusts his grip on his old, beloved orange umbrella and leans back further in the lawn chair he’d set up beside the ship a half hour ago. A phantom twinge where his right leg should be makes him grimace momentarily and glance up at the cloudless blue sky. Apparently it’ll rain tomorrow. Pity they won’t be sticking around for it. It’s been so long since he’s seen rain.  Granted, he does prefer sunny days for obvious reasons, but the sky is still always beautiful no matter its mood on any particular day. And it would be nice to be able to use his umbrella for its intended use instead of to keep himself from getting an embarrassingly bad sunburn, that too. 

 

“Behave, you,” he mutters, massaging the sensitive junction on his thigh where scarred flesh meets metal. “We’re supposed to be finding passengers, not having this conversation for the 700th time.” Speaking of which… He resumes watching the crowd of people bustling around the docks intently. Picking passengers isn’t just a matter of grabbing the first person that passes by, after all. There’s a certain art to it. And there’s one person in particular that’s kept catching his eye ever since he set up camp beside the Cipher.

 

A young man, somewhat on the short side, who can’t be older than 21 at the very most, mills around the space yard, tugging a modest amount of luggage behind him on a cart. Judging from his plain, black clothes and white collar, he’s a priest or preacher of some sort. He’s been appraising each ship in the docks for the last half hour or so, but hasn’t made a move to get on any of them.

 

 “You’re coming with us,” he calls out to the young man as he approaches. The preacher pauses momentarily, glances over, and raises a skeptical eyebrow. J-Hope grins back at him cheekily.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“You like ships,” J-Hope explains. “I haven’t seen you look at any of the destinations at any of the ships in the docks. What you care about is the ships themselves, and mine’s,” He jerks a thumb back at the Cipher, “the nicest.”

 

The preacher gives the ship a skeptical onceover. “She doesn’t look like much,” he finally says, not bothering to hide his dubiousness.

 

“Oh, she still has a few tricks up her sleeve, believe you me,” J-Hope replies confidently. “You ever sail in a Butterfly, kid?”

 

“Once or twice,” he shrugs. “Older models, though, not a mark four like this one. They didn’t have those extra afterburners, so atmo reentry was always… exciting.”

 

“Well, Cipher’s the smoothest ride from here to Quilmes you’ll find in this shipyard for 100 credits, I guarantee it.” J-Hope gets up out of his lawn chair and walks over to the preacher, twirling his umbrella absently.

 

“What would you say to 65 credits and some fresh produce?” the young man offers, motioning at a wooden box on top of his small cart of luggage. “Used to keep a garden back at the abbey, and I can’t eat it all myself before it goes bad, so-”

 

“Deal,” J-Hope interjects before the preacher can change his mind, internally rejoicing at the thought of some fresh fruit or vegetables on the table for the first time in weeks. “So,” he begins as he leads the way back to the ship, “if you don’t mind me asking… how come you don’t care where you’re going?”

 

“Because how you get there’s the more important part.”

 

“Oh, I like you.” The pilot grins wider and holds out his hand to the other man as they reach the ramp leading up to the ship. “Hoseok Jung. Call me J-Hope.”

 

The preacher smiles back and takes his hand in his own small, dainty one. His grip is surprisingly strong and firm. “Shepherd Jimin Park. Pleasure to meet you, J-Hope.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I don’t understand why Captain didn’t let me put a bullet or three in that bastard’s brainpan,” Cookie growls as he, Namjoon, and Yoongi make their way back to the docks. “Had a nice clean shot and everything.”

 

“We’d be dead,” Namjoon explains shortly. “Can’t get paid if you’re dead.”

 

“Would have made me feel better at least,” the boy grumbles sulkily.

 

“As much as I would have liked to throw a few knives around myself, I have to agree with Namjoon on this one,” Yoongi adds. “Dragon wasn’t going to see reason, and we were outnumbered there anyway. We’ll just have to find a buyer on Quilmes. There’s gotta be some-”

 

“Quilmes is too big,” Namjoon interrupts tersely. “Plus, the Republic’s got a huge presence there. Hell, they might already be there waiting for us.”

 

“You think Dragon would sell us out?” Yoongi asks doubtfully, very deliberately not looking in the direction of the two Republic soldiers standing in the street, watching the trio as they walk by with the intensity of a pair of hawks before turning their attention back to the rest of the crowd.

 

“If he hasn’t already,” Namjoon answers grimly.

 

Yoongi bites his lip. “If we’re caught with government goods…”

 

“We’ll lose the ship, I know,” Namjoon finishes the thought.

 

“I mean… could just dump it,” Cookie interjects quietly, evidently having gotten over the disappointment of not being allowed to shoot something today. “Nothing’s worth losing Cipher over.”

 

“Abso-fucking-loutly not!” Yoongi objects immediately at Namjoon’s thoughtful look upon hearing the suggestion, stopping dead in his tracks and halting the taller man with a hand on his arm. “’Joon, we haven’t had a job in weeks; you know as well as I do that we need coin if we even want to have enough money to fuel the ship, let alone keep her in repair.”

 

“As much as I’d like to wash my hands of this whole mess, Yoongi’s right.” Namjoon rakes a hand through his hair with a sigh. “We got nothing saved from our last few jobs, and taking on passengers won't help near enough. We’re going to need to find a buyer.”

 

“So then, do like Dragon said?” Cookie asks. “One of the border planets?”

 

“I’m thinking Summerhall, maybe talk to Irene…”

 

“Nope,” Yoongi vetoes the suggestion immediately. “We don’t want to deal with Irene again.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

Yoongi gives him a deadpan look.  “She _shot_ you, Namjoon.”

 

“Well, I mean, yeah, she did, kinda, but still-”

 

“We’re finding someone else. How about Iron?”

 

Namjoon shakes his head. “He can’t afford it.”

 

“The Highlight boys, then.”

 

“They wouldn’t touch it. You want me to go down the entire list?” Namjoon ticks them off on his fingers as he speaks. “Pentagon ring got offed a few weeks ago, the Shinhwa and her crew hasn’t answered any hails for over two months, Tablo’s dead-”

 

“Wait, wait, wait, he’s dead?” Yoongi interrupts, eyes widening in alarm. “Since when?”

 

“Last I heard, his town got hit by Reavers about a month ago. Razed it to the ground, only two or three survivors, none of them him.”

 

“Not Reaver territory,” Cookie whispers, voice almost lost in the bustle of the open market, his tall, muscular frame seeming to almost shrink in on itself. He turns large, haunted, pleading eyes on Namjoon. “Anything but that, Captain. Please... can’t… not again…”

 

“Hey.” Namjoon rests a hand on the boy’s faintly trembling shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t worry about it. We’re not going anywhere near there.” He looks back at Yoongi. “Summerhall is the safest and closest option. It’s been a long time since Irene shot me and that was mostly due to a breakdown in communication. She and her girls own half that entire moon by now. If anyone can afford what we have and have immediate use for it, it’s her. And I don’t see the point in holding a grudge when we’re this strapped for cash.”

 

Yoongi shakes his head, but Namjoon can tell he’s all but given in. “I still think this is an awful idea.”

 

“Not saying it won’t be a hard sell,” Namjoon says as they resume walking. “But we don’t have any other choice. We need the money.”

 

They pass a small food stall on the way, and Cookie can’t quite manage to keep the longing look off his face as he glances at a colorful assortment of lollipops in a glass jar high on one shelf before he schools it back into a more neutral expression. Namjoon sighs internally and reaches in his pocket for a copper.  Yoongi, however, beats him to it.

 

“Here.” The mechanic brusquely presses a coin into a startled Cookie’s hand. “Be back in three minutes or we’re taking off without you.” Cookie gives him a bright, blindingly white smile before dashing off through the crowd to the stall. Yoongi gazes at the boy’s retreating back with an uncharacteristically soft expression before he notices Namjoon grinning smugly at him.

 

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles. “Just because the kid’s mildly psychotic doesn’t mean he’s not cute.”

  
  
“Did I say anything?” Namjoon says innocently.

 

“You were thinking it.”

 

“So can add ‘mind reader’ to your resume now, too, can you?”

 

Yoongi shoves him so hard he nearly falls into a nearby barrel of apples.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The trio reaches the Cipher just in time to see J-Hope welcoming a short, dark-haired man onto the Cipher, no luggage in sight except for a large pack slung over his shoulder and a violin case in one hand.

 

“Glad to have you on board, Mr…?”

 

“Lau, Henry Lau.” The man grins in reply, shakes his hand firmly, and disappears into the ship. A local dock transport mule drives by and begins to ascend up the docking ramp, a large, silver crate securely fastened to the back. Once the mule passes, Namjoon sees a young man standing beside J-Hope, gazing into the ship with a vaguely worried look on his handsome face. The captain notes the man’s dark, finely-tailored suit and well-maintained hairstyle, and frowns slightly.

 

“Please be careful with that!” the man calls to the driver of the mule just as J-Hope notices his crewmates approaching, waving enthusiastically. Cookie sizes up the passenger for a moment, gives a curt nod, and then slips into the ship without a word, closely followed by Yoongi. Namjoon lingers, quirking an eyebrow at J-Hope.

 

“Oh!” J-Hope loops a companionable arm around the newcomer’s broad shoulders as he pulls him over. “Namjoon, this is Seokjin. Jin, this is our captain.”

 

Seokjin nods, smiling politely. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Kim.”

 

Namjoon nods in return. “Likewise. Welcome aboard.”

 

Later, as everyone finishes loading up their luggage and the transport mule departs after Seokjin tips the driver, Namjoon gives the cargo hold a once-over when someone falls into step beside him.

 

“So.” Yoongi says quietly, surveying the large, cluttered space critically. “Now we have a boatload of civilians right on top of our… special cargo.” He glances at Namjoon. “That’s a fun mix.”

 

“There’s no way any of them could find that cargo even if-” Namjoon cuts himself off as Henry walks by and then resumes once the shorter man is out of earshot. “Even if they were looking for it.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because you’re a genius and hid that special compartment too well?”

 

“Oh yeah.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “This is gonna go _great_.”

 

“It’ll be _fine_ , Yoongs,” Namjoon assures him, walking over to the hold door and smacking the automatic lock. It begins to close with the gentle hiss of hydraulics and groan of old machinery, and the bustling space docks of Amaran disappear from sight. “Honestly, you’re such a pessimist. Besides, if anyone gets too nosy, you can just shoot them.”

 

“Shoot them?” Yoongi parrots incredulously.

 

“I’m _joking_ , Yoongi.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After Cipher breaks atmo and they’re well on their way to Quilmes, everyone gathers in the dining area and Namjoon gives his usual spiel to the passengers “Meals are taken up here in the dining area, the kitchen is pretty much self-explanatory, and you’re welcome to help yourself to the standard protein rations at any time. We do have sit-down meals, the next one being in about two hours, and if you feel like socializing a little, you’re welcome to attend.”

 

“I think Jin’s offered to cook something later with some of the fresh produce Shepherd Park gave us,” J-Hope pipes up.

 

“You’re a Shepherd?” Namjoon asks the young man, who nods placidly from his perch on the counter.

 

“I thought the outfit gave it away.” He cocks his head to one side, giving Namjoon a searching look. “Is there a problem?”

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Namjoon says hurriedly, not missing the warning look J-Hope is giving him from over the shorter man’s head. Hoseok Jung may be one of the most easygoing people in the ‘verse, but getting on his bad side is not an experience the captain is in a hurry to repeat anytime soon. Something abruptly clicks in his head, and he turns to Seokjin. “Wait, you cook?”

 

“It’s… kind of a hobby of mine,” the other man admits, rubbing the back of his neck a little bashfully. “I haven’t gotten to do it in a while, but I enjoy it, and it keeps my hands busy, so.”

 

“I see.” Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by that admission. “Well, as I said, you're welcome to visit the dining area any time. Apart from that, please stay in the passenger dorm while we're in the air. The bridge, the engine room, cargo bay -- they're all off limits without an escort.”

 

“Some of my personal things are in the cargo bay, though,” Seokjin protests.

 

“Well then, as soon as we're done here we'll be happy to go with you so you can get them,” Namjoon counters smoothly. “Now, one other thing before we’re done here. Unfortunately, we've been ordered by the Republic to drop some medical supplies off on Summerhall. It's Minerva's second moon, a little out of our way, but we should arrive at Quilmes no more than a day off schedule. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience.”

 

“What medical supplies?” Henry asks, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“I honestly didn’t ask,” Namjoon replies, the lie rolling easily off his tongue.

 

“Probably stuff like plasma, vaccines, whatever they don’t have enough of on the border moons,” Yoongi adds.

 

 “Hm. All right.” Henry doesn’t seem convinced but lets it go.

 

“Yoongi, how about you take them to the cargo bay so they can get whatever they need for the trip?” Namjoon suggests, giving the mechanic a significant look.

 

“Did you send word to Irene?” Namjoon murmurs to J-Hope after Yoongi leaves with the passengers.

 

“Yeah. Haven’t heard anything back yet, though.”

 

Namjoon nods in acknowledgement, and notices J-Hope giving him an odd, unreadable look. “What?”

 

J-Hope purses his lips and says slowly, “Didn’t… she shoot you one time?”

 

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After about an hour, Namjoon passes by the kitchen on his way to his room to catch up on some reading, and the sound of uproarious laugher from within makes him stop short and poke his head in the door to see what all the commotion is about. The Shepherd is bent over double at the table, back shaking with the force of his laughter, Yoongi visibly fighting back a smile beside him, while J-Hope giggles from behind the counter, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth in a futile attempt to stifle them. And over it all, there’s a high-pitched, squeaky, hiccupping noise, almost like windshield wipers. It takes Namjoon a moment to realize the sound is laughter, and that Seokjin is the one making it.

 

“Um… did someone sneak some spirits aboard while I wasn’t looking, or…?”

 

“No, Jin just has an awful taste in jokes,” Yoongi says dryly.

 

“Amazing taste, you mean,” Jimin manages to gasp out between giggles.

 

“Go on,” Hobi nudges the taller man in the ribs with his elbow as he removes a pan of steaming vegetables from the stove. “Show the captain your sterling wit.”

 

“Alright, alright.” He bats J-Hope away with a grin, sets down the pan, and turns to Namjoon. “So, why did the Clydesdale give the pony a glass of water?” Without bothering for anyone to respond, he delivers the punch line, “Because he was a little horse!” and devolves into helpless, hysterical laughter on the spot. J-Hope groans and buries his face in his hands, the Shepherd goes right back to being bent over at a 90 degree angle, and Yoongi rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and chuckles a little despite himself.

 

Namjoon makes a calculated, tactical retreat before the slight upward tilt of his lips can betray him, because damned if he’s going to give that city slicker the satisfaction of making him laugh at a pun a 5 year old could have written. That would just be embarrassing.  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When dinner is finally finished cooking, people eventually start making their way to the dining area and busy themselves with attacking the frankly impressive spread Seokjin was able to cobble together from the Cipher’s existing packaged rations and the fresh produce provided by the Shepherd.

 

“So, does this happen a lot?” Seokjin asks after they’re settled in around the scarred, stained wooden table bolted to the floor in one corner of the kitchen. “Government commandeering your ship, telling you what to do, where to go?”

 

“That’s what governments are for,” Namjoon answers, helping himself to another serving of kimchi. “Making life harder for everyone."

 

“Well, it’s good if the supplies are needed,” Henry chimes in, before murmuring “Please pass the carrots” to Yoongi.

 

“We’re just happy to help out,” Yoongi replies with a grin that only a practiced eye could tell is sardonic, handing him the bowl.

 

“I hear a lot of the border is in bad shape. Plagues, famine, and the like.” 

 

“Well, some of that's exaggerated, and some of it isn’t,” Yoongi clarifies. “All those border worlds, they're as close to Earth-That-Was as they could make them, just like the central planets: gravity, atmosphere, and such, but once they're terraformed, settlers tend to get dumped there with nothing but the bare essentials.  Some of them make it, some of them...” He trails off and shrugs.

 

Seokjin looks thoughtful. “I guess it’s good that we’re helping, then.”

 

“You said you were a doctor earlier, right?” J-Hope asks conversationally.

 

“Oh, yes, I recently graduated from medical school as a trauma surgeon in New Ulsan City, on Ielara.”

 

“Long way from home then, aren’t you?” Namjoon observes offhandedly, just as J-Hope replies with:

 

“You seem rather young. To be a doctor, I mean.”

 

Cookie chooses that exact moment to wander in, grab a plate, pile it with food, and then turn right back around and leave the room without uttering a single word to anyone.

 

“He warms up to new people on his own time,” Namjoon helpfully explains to the passengers, who are all staring after the teen’s retreating back with varying degrees of curiosity and puzzlement. “Don’t take it personal. He likes to get a feel for people before he eats with them. It’s a quirk of his. It’s not like we pay him to talk to people after all.” He chuckles at his own joke before stuffing a large piece of fried tomato in his mouth.

 

“What do you pay him for?” Seokjin asks after a moment of thoughtful silence.

 

“Beg pardon?” Namjoon replies absently, picking up a piece of broccoli with his chopsticks.

 

“Oh, I was just wondering what his job on the ship was,” he clarifies. “I mean, you say I’m young to be a doctor, but he can’t be older than what, sixteen, seventeen? Is he like an intern or something?”

 

Namjoon freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, something deep inside his gut twisting painfully-

 

_-“Captain said if anyone tries to kill me again, should try to kill them right back.” The kid slings his gun around and unloads a few more bullets into one of the many cooling bodies littering the room, the rat-a-tat of gunfire harmonizing with wild, hysterical giggles, before he calms, hugging the submachine gun tightly to his chest with both arms as if it’s a beloved toy. He briefly looks down at the shells littering the ground around him that mingle with the splatters of red covering the floor and then lifts his chin proudly, dark, doe eyes peeking out from behind shaggy bangs, blood trickling from one corner of his shy, eager grin._

 

_“So did I do good, Captain? Did I do good?”-_

 

“…Yeah, let’s go with that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Later, as Namjoon lies stretched out on his stomach on his bed, engrossed in an ancient, dog-eared copy of an Isaac Asimov short story collection, J-Hope’s voice cuts in over the comm, faintly nervous and missing its usual bright, cheery timbre. “Namjoon, you might want to get up here…”

 

Namjoon regretfully shelves the book and hightails it up to the bridge in record time to find his pilot peering anxiously at a scanner. “What is it, Hobi?”

 

“Signal,” he replies tersely. “Somebody went on the Cortex, sent a wave to the nearest Republic Cruiser.”

 

“You scrambled it, right?”

 

“To hell and back, but I don't know how much managed to get through. Republic’s got a pin in us for sure.” His worried eyes meet Namjoon’s and he says what they’re both thinking. “There's a plant on board.”

 

A stream of colorful profanity that would have gotten his mouth washed out three times over back when his mother was still alive erupts from Namjoon’s mouth. He turns on his heel and storms out of the room, not even bothering for J-Hope to catch up.

 

He stomps down to the cargo bay, and spies Seokjin near the back, checking on his box. Rage boils in his chest.

 

“Forget your slippers?” he asks sarcastically as Seokjin turns at the sound of approaching footsteps. Without bothering to wait for a reply, he slugs the man across the face, sending him sprawling.

 

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Seokjin demands, wiping away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

 

“Just about, thanks for asking,” Namjoon snarls, shaking out his hand as Seokjin struggles to stand. “What’d you tell them?”

 

“Tell who?”

 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, pulls his gun out of its holster, and aims it straight at Seokjin’s forehead. “I’m really not in the mood for games right now.” He thumbs back the hammer. “What do they know?”

 

“You’re crazy,” Seokjin breathes.

 

“And you’re a goddamn cop,” Namjoon retorts.

 

“Sorry to say this, but you’ve got the wrong man, Captain,” interjects Shepherd Park’s voice. Namjoon and Seokjin turn as one to see the young man looking pointedly behind them. Slowly, they turn the opposite direction to see Henry holding a gun on Namjoon.

 

“Drop that firearm, Captain Kim,” Henry orders. Namjoon hesitates for a split second, then complies.

 

“This is not my best day ever,” he mutters, and is just about to raise his hands before he realizes that Henry now has the gun trained squarely on Seokjin. “Seokjin Kim, you are bound by law to stand down.” Namjoon feels as surprised as Seokjin looks. Henry’s personality seems to have done a complete 180, going from an easygoing, friendly drifter to a no-nonsense, uptight cop.

 

“Get on the ground!” he orders Seokjin.

 

“Henry, please, you’re making a mistake,” the young man pleads, raising his hands as Henry advances on them with the gun.

 

“I think you ought to do what he says, doctor,” Namjoon interjects helpfully.  “The man seems rather twitchy.”

 

“I think everyone could stand to calm down a bit,” Jimin says, slowly moving in Henry’s direction.

 

“This isn’t your business, Shepherd,” Henry replies tersely.

 

“Jin’s not going anywhere, Henry. It’s pretty cold outside.”

 

“Not to worry,” Namjoon states, going to pick up his gun. “You can toss him in one of the passenger cells and then you can hand him over to-“

 

“Get the hell away from that weapon!” Henry snaps, pointing his gun at Namjoon again. “Do you take me for a _complete_ fool? You're ferrying a known fugitive across interplanetary borders, and you think I actually believe your hackneyed story about bringing medical supplies to Summerhall? As far as I’m concerned, you and every single member of your crew is complicit.”

 

Namjoon’s good mood evaporates like frost on a hull during atmo reentry. “Well then. That changes things.”

 

“Please,” Jimin says, stepping closer, “If we could all just calm down and talk about this like civilized people-”

 

“I got a cruiser en route for intercept, so talk all you want,” Henry remarks dismissively. You got about fifteen, twenty minutes.”

 

Jimin hasn’t stopped moving. “For God’s sake-”

 

“I don’t want to shoot you, Shepherd, but if you don’t back off right now-!”

 

“Look, we don’t want any trouble, just take the doctor and go.” Namjoon grabs Seokjin by the collar and jerks him forward.

 

“Get _off_ me-!” Seokjin twists around, trying to dislodge the captain.

 

“Stand down-!” Henry swings his gun around.

 

“Everybody just stop it!” Jimin steps into the fray.

 

Yoongi’s voice rises over the din as he walks in the door, trailed closely by Cookie, “Why the hell is everyone shouti-”

 

BANG!

 

The room falls dead silent. Smoke rises from the barrel of Henry’s gun. Yoongi stumbles backwards and slams into the wall, pressing a hand to his stomach. Rich, warm crimson bubbles up from between his fingers. As he slumps to the ground, a lot of things happen at once.

 

Namjoon dives for his weapon, Cookie draws his, Henry swings to fire at Namjoon… and Jimin is right in his face, delivering a vicious, calculated jab to the throat as he grabs his gun hand, twists, and seizes the gun with his other hand, whacking Henry across the face with the butt in the same motion. The cop falls to the floor, unconscious.

 

As this altercation is going down, Seokjin rushes to Yoongi’s side. He eases the injured man down into a prone position, Namjoon scrambling over to kneel at his other side. “How do you feel?”

 

“’S that a rhetorical questio-?” A half-stifled moan of pain cuts off the rest of Yoongi’s sentence as Seokjin opens his jumpsuit to examine the wound.

 

“You’ve had way worse, Yoongs,” Namjoon says with forced cheer, making himself tear his eyes away from the bloody, mangled mass of flesh. He grabs Yoongi’s hand and squeezes instinctually, brushing strands of dark hair off the older man’s clammy forehead with the other. “Remember that time you got blasted through the window of that music shop by a bomb back on Neeru and that old upright broke your fall? Supreme was picking glass and splinters out of your sorry hide for a week. This is nothing compared to that.”

 

“’Nothing’ my _ass_ ,” Yoongi snaps breathlessly, but Namjoon feels the pressure on his hand increase by a fraction and nearly cries in sheer relief.

 

On the other side of the room, Cookie stalks toward Henry’s prone form, gun in one hand and a knife in the other, his expression blank but his eyes murderous. Jimin steps into his path, shielding Henry from view.

 

“Outta my way,” the boy demands, voice low and menacing.

 

Jimin doesn’t budge an inch.  “You’re not killing this man.”

 

“Not right away, sure.”

 

“He’s not a threat anymore. I’m not letting you touch him.”

 

“ _Move_.”

 

“Not gonna happen.”

 

Cookie raises his gun and points it at Jimin’s chest. “Not going to tell you again.”

 

“Cookie!” Both young men look up to see J-Hope leaning over the railing on the catwalk leading to the bridge, face white as a sheet. “Let it go. Just tie him up.” Cookie growls low in his throat, the sound animalistic and borderline feral as he and the pilot lock eyes and seem to be engaged in a contest of wills. A tense moment passes, and then Cookie shoves his gun back in its holster with a frustrated snarl and grabs a roll of duct tape off a nearby crate. A shrill alarm blares from the bridge, and J-Hope disappears back through the door.

 

Back near the door to the cargo hold, Seokjin asks, “Can you move your feet, Yoongi?” When he gets no response, he lightly smacks the mechanic’s pale face, which is getting paler by the second. “Yoongi! Stay with me now. Can. You. Move. Your. Feet?”

 

“’M awful at dancing,” Yoongi slurs, his eyes starting to roll back in his head. “’Joon’s worse, though.”

 

“He’s going into shock,” Seokjin states, and puts both hands on Yoongi’s stomach, pressing down firmly to staunch the bleeding. Yoongi _screams_ , the awful, piercing, agonized sound clawing its way out of his throat like a living thing. His back arches reflexively, grip on Namjoon’s hand tightening so much that the captain can’t stifle his reflexive grunt of pain.

 

“Is your infirmary working?” Seokjin asks him, keeping his hands pressed on the wound.

 

Namjoon nods. “Well enough.”

 

As they move to pick Yoongi up, J-Hope’s voice sounds over the intercom. “Captain, we've been hailed by a Cruiser. They’re ordering us to stay on course and dock for prisoner transfer.”

 

Namjoon and Seokjin look at each other. “Change course,” Seokjin says, sounding calmer than he has any right to be in this situation. “Run.”

 

“Hell with that,” Namjoon retorts fiercely. “This is your fault. The Republic can have you for all I care.”

 

“Yoongi’s dying.” Namjoon’s blood turns to ice at the simple, brutal statement of fact.

 

“You’re not gonna let him,” he grinds out, hand tightening on Yoongi’s, whose grip is rapidly weakening.

 

“Do you know what a stomach wound does to a person, Captain?”

 

“Better than most people.”

 

“Then you know how critical the next few minutes are going to be. I need time and space to operate, and the Cruiser’s going to be here in minutes. You think they’ll care whether or not he lives or dies? You think you’re equipped to handle any complications that might arise during or after the surgery? That bullet’s shredded part of his intestines; _if_ he lives, he’s going to need to be kept under close observation for days to make sure nothing else goes wrong. If you want him to live, you cannot afford to get rid of me.” As if to punctuate the doctor’s words, Yoongi screams again, quieter this time, tears beginning to trickle in a steady stream down his face.

 

Seokjin continues to stare at him, and Namjoon recognizes the desperate, cornered animal look hidden deep in his eyes. He’s seen that look too many times on the battlefield. “Turn this ship around, Captain Kim. Right now.”

 

Namjoon knows he has only one choice in this situation. “Cookie,” he says finally, not breaking eye contact with Seokjin. “Tell J-Hope to change course.”

 

Some of the tension bleeds out of Seokjin’s frame, and his broad shoulders slump slightly. He moves his bloodstained hands and hooks them under Yoongi’s legs. “Help me get him up.”

 

Namjoon reluctantly pries his hand out of Yoongi’s death grip and slides them under his arms, and the two hoist the smaller body up, causing the injured man to moan in pain. Having finished securing the cop’s hands and feet, Cookie tosses the roll of duct tape to the side and sprints over to the comm, smacking the button. “Hobi, Captain says change course and go for hard burn. We’re running.”

 

On the way to the infirmary, the ship shudders beneath their feet, signifying J-Hope has gotten the message. Namjoon hits the switch to open the door of the small room with his elbow, and he and Seokjin quickly lay Yoongi out on the operating table. Seokjin immediately starts rifling through the cabinets and draws, taking stock of their inventory.

 

“You have an extractor?” he asks, rummaging through the medicine cabinet and selecting two bottles.

 

“Got a laser saw.”

 

“Not good enough.” Seokjin catches sight of Cookie, who’s peering around the corner of the door worriedly. “Kid, there’s a green bag in my room. I need-” Cookie’s already gone before he can finish the thought.   

 

As Seokjin pulls open a drawer to find a hypo-gun and vials of anesthetic, Namjoon turns to him. “When this is over, you and I are going to have _words_.”

 

“Can’t wait.” Seokjin loads a vial into the gun and tosses it to Namjoon in one smooth motion. “In the meantime, make yourself useful and dope him.”

 

Namjoon glowers but obeys, gently turning Yoongi’s head slightly to one side, pressing the barrel of the hypo against the white column of his throat, and pulling the trigger. Yoongi jerks slightly and gasps as the sedative is injected into his bloodstream. Namjoon keeps a comforting hand on his head as he quickly succumbs to its affects, eyelids fluttering and then finally closing, his tense, pain-wracked body falling mercifully limp.

 

The next hour seems to pass by both in a blur and far too slowly. As the only conscious person on the ship with any prior medical experience, Namjoon acts as Seokjin’s assistant, fetching tools, mopping up blood, monitoring Yoongi’s vitals, anything the doctor is too preoccupied to do himself, basically. Namjoon can’t really begrudge him for it, though, since he was wholly engrossed in fishing bullet shards out of Yoongi’s gut for the first thirty minutes with the extractor Cookie brought back and spent the rest of the time painstakingly sewing the deep, jagged wound back together.

 

J-Hope and Cookie hover. After Cipher was far enough away from the Republic Cruiser that Hobi could leave the controls for a bit, he’d rushed down to the infirmary as fast as his legs could carry him. He’d taken one look at all the blood and promptly did an about face and walked right back out, looking rather green around the gills. He’d ventured back in a few minutes later and leaned himself up against the wall beside the door, staring studiously at the floor and occasionally venturing a glance at one of the windows lining the infirmary, on the other side of which is Cookie.

 

After retrieving Seokjin’s bag, Cookie had run out of the room and parked himself outside, crouching on the stairs beside one of the windows and hugging his knees as he peers into the operating theater anxiously. The boy almost looks like he’s about to burst into tears any minute, but he’d shaken off J-Hope’s attempts at comforting him, withdrawing deep into his own head instead. Namjoon doesn’t want to think about what his reaction might be if Yoongi doesn’t make it. He doesn’t want to think about Yoongi not making it at all, so he concentrates instead on watching his friend’s chest rise and fall with each slow, shallow breath, as if he can keep his heart beating through sheer force of will.

 

Finally, Seokjin steps back and lays the roll of bandages on a tray. “I can’t do anything more until he stabilizes,” he says tiredly, beginning to wash his hands in the nearby sink.

 

“Will he?” Namjoon gives Yoongi’s nonresponsive hand one last light squeeze and straightens up.

 

Seokjin wipes his hands and turns, face grim. “It’s… honestly, it’s too early for me to say.”

 

“Could someone please explain what’s going on here?” J-Hope speaks up from where he’s hunched against the wall, looking pale and still more than a little queasy. 

 

“Why don't we find out?” Namjoon leaves the room, jogging with single-minded purpose toward the cargo bay.

 

“What are you… wait, no! No!” Seokjin scrambles after him in a panic, closely followed by Cookie and J-Hope. Once they reach the cargo bay, Namjoon makes a beeline straight for the silver crate.

 

“No, stay away from that- augh!” Seokjin cries out in surprise as Cookie grabs him and easily twists his arms behind him, preventing him from moving any further.

 

“Where’s the cop?” Namjoon asks as he approaches the crate.

 

“Room,” Cookie replies shortly. “Shepherd’s with. Doesn’t seem to think he’s safe around me.” He bares his teeth in an expression that could only be called a grin in the loosest definition of the word. “Dunno where he’d get that idea.”

 

“No! Please don’t!” Seokjin pleads desperately as Namjoon proceeds to twist the combination dials on the box and pull the release lever. The lid pops off with the accompanying hiss of hydraulics, and a wash of cold, white steam spills over the sides and curls along the floor.

 

"Let's see just why the Republic wants you back so badly." Namjoon kicks the top off the crate. It clatters to the floor with a loud clang, and the steam billows up for a moment before clearing from over what’s inside. And whatever Namjoon was expecting to see… it wasn’t this.

 

A naked, unconscious teenage boy lies curled on his side in the fetal position. The box was obviously a cryo chamber of some sort, the material inside perfectly conforming to the teen’s body, almost like a padded, metallic womb. Namjoon stares at the boy for a long moment, then at Seokjin, then back at the boy.

 

“…Huh,” is the only thing his brain can come up with to succinctly summarize the situation.

 

“I need to check his vitals,” Seokjin demands, trying to wrest his wrists away from Cookie’s iron grip.

 

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” Namjoon comments absently.

 

“He’s not scheduled to wake up for another two weeks!” the doctor protests, still straining desperately to get free. “The shock-”

 

“The shock of what?” Namjoon rounds on him sharply. “Finding out he’s been sold to the ion mines or some rich pervert out on a random backwater borderworld? Or, I’m sorry, is this one yours? Because-”

 

A sudden shriek cuts off the rest of his sentence, and Namjoon involuntarily gives a small yelp and stumbles back a step as he turns back to the box. The boy is now very much awake and pulls himself up to a sitting position, his wide, confused, wild eyes darting around the room frantically. He continues screaming, scrambling up out of the box and spilling gracelessly onto the floor, breathing hard. A black tattoo in the shape of an uppercase V stands out starkly against the ashen skin over his right collarbone as he shuffles backwards clumsily.

 

Having taken advantage of his captor’s unabashed shock, Seokjin finally manages to break free of Cookie’s hold and sprints past Namjoon. He crouches beside the hysterical teenager who’s finally backed himself up against a crate and has nowhere else to go, reaching out to him carefully. “Taehyung?”

 

The boy shrieks again as Seokjin’s hands clasp his shoulders.  “Taehyung, it’s okay.” He holds on as the teenager thrashes violently in his grip, trying to get the boy to look him in the eye. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s _okay_. I’m here.” The kid calms a little as he stares at the other’s face and a spark of recognition ignites in the dark depths of his eyes.

 

“Seokjin…” he whispers hoarsely, his voice startlingly deep. The panicked fog clears from his expression before his eyes abruptly fill with tears. “Jin, they- they sing to me, they’re everywhere, they won’t leave me alone, Jin, they want me to s-sing-!”

 

“Shhh, it’s okay, TaeTae, it’s okay.” Seokjin tenderly cradles the boy’s face in his hands, leans in, and presses their foreheads together as tears begin to trickle in a steady stream down sallow, sunken cheeks. “They’re gone now. They’re all gone. They’re gone, and you’re safe. We’re safe. I’m here, Taehyung. I’m _here_.” The boy makes a small, broken, desperate sound as Seokjin proceeds to gently gather him into his arms, practically melting into the doctor’s chest as he buries his face in the crook of his neck. His arms come up to return the embrace, hands fisting in Seokjin’s clothes so tightly his knuckles turn white as his entire body trembles from the force of his sobs.

 

“Just what the hell is this?” Namjoon finally asks after a few moments of complete silence have passed, save for the rumble of the engines under their feet and the boy’s soft weeping. Seokjin turns his head and defiantly looks at the rest of the crew.

 

“This is my brother.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW. Considering a lot of the dialogue was lifted out of the original pilot episode of Firefly, this was surprisingly difficult to write. And tbh, the entire reason this 17 page monstrosity got written in the first place was only because I wanted to write that last scene with Taehyung and it just kinda… grew on me. Does anyone want a continuation of this that goes through the end of the pilot? Drop me a comment to let me know if you do. I was planning on stopping this particular fic here and maybe writing other oneshots that take place elsewhere in the timeline, but if enough people want a continuation, I might write one. 
> 
> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://x-i-l-verify.tumblr.com/), if ya want.


	2. Chapter 2

“Taehyung was… always a special kid.” Seokjin stands at the head of the dining room table, where Namjoon, J-Hope, Cookie, and Jimin have all gathered to hear his explanation for the hysterical adolescent smuggled on board the ship in a box, who is currently unconscious in the infirmary next to Yoongi. 

 

“To give you some frame of reference for what I mean when I say special, he programmed his first basic computer at age six, was playing professional level saxophone at age eight, was featured at the national level for his photography at age eleven, and tested extraordinarily high in lateral thinking and problem solving skills in every single intelligence test administered to him in school. More than that, he just had this… talent for being able to see the beauty in anything, and accentuating it so that everyone else around him could see it, too. He could be a real airhead sometimes, though.” A fond little smile quirks one corner of Seokjin’s mouth, a faraway look coming into his eyes.

 

“There was this one time he got so engrossed in watching a trail of ants that had found the sugar bowl that he nearly burned the house down because -” The doctor seems to realize he’s starting to ramble and cuts himself off, continuing after a couple seconds of collecting his thoughts.

 

“There was a school. A government-sponsored academy for gifted students, so new that none of us had ever even heard of it, but they offered the most exciting program, the most advanced and specialized education available for Taehyung’s particular set of interests and skills. We could have sent him anywhere, we had the money, but… he wanted to go. To learn. He had just turned fifteen.” Seokjin takes a deep breath, as if what he’s about to say is physically paining him.

 

“I got a letter every week at first. He was settling in okay, studies were interesting, he’d even managed to make friends with a small group of older kids.” Seokjin pauses, and gives a soft, sad chuckle.

 

“One of Taehyung’s new friends, Hakyeon I think his name was, even wrote me a brief note after the first month. Said he’d heard a lot about me from Taehyung, that I seemed to be fretting a lot about him in my letters, which…” Seokjin rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “yeah, knowing me, I probably was. Anyways, he promised that he’d do his best to look after Tae for me, one older sibling to another. I breathed a bit easier after that, knowing Tae had people looking out for him over there, you know? I finally thought everything would be fine.

 

“And then the letters just… stopped coming. For months, I didn’t hear a thing, and then I got a letter out of the blue, but it… it made no sense. It was a random, disjointed ramble about people we’d never met, places we’d never seen, in-jokes that didn’t exist, and… well. Long story short, it was a code. All it said was, ‘They’re hurting us. Save me.’”

 

“How did you do it?” J-Hope speaks up for the first time.

 

“Money. And luck. For almost two years, I couldn’t get anywhere near him, no matter how hard I tried, and then some people, an underground movement of some sort, they contacted me out of the blue. They… they said he was in danger, that the government was… playing with his brain. If I funded their operation, they said they could help me smuggle him out in cryo, get him to Pran, and from there I could take him wherever.”

 

“Will he be alright?” Jimin asks.

 

“I don’t know if he’ll be alright. I don’t know what they did to him. Or why. I just know that I need to keep him safe.”

 

J-Hope lets out a long breath. “That’s… quite a story, Jin.”

 

“Yeah, a real tale of woe and tragedy,” Namjoon remarks, unable to keep the animosity out of his tone. “Very unfortunate, very stirring, I can tell you’ve been practicing your delivery, but in the meantime, this is quite the quandary you’ve landed me and my crew in.”

 

“I never thought-”

 

“No, I suppose you _didn’t_ , did you?” Namjoon growls, rising out of his chair. “And now we have a kidnapped federal officer on board, the Republic hot on our tail, and Yoongi…” He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to, judging from the way Seokjin winces as if he’s been slapped.

 

“How much does the Republic know?” Cookie murmurs to J-Hope.

 

The pilot shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea. I axed the connection as soon as I could, so they might only have our position.”

 

“Or they might have whipped up personal profiles for each and every one of us, up to and including our favorite colors,” Namjoon finishes grimly. “We have no way of knowing until that fed wakes up.”

 

“So then, what do we do now?” J-Hope asks. Namjoon takes a moment to weigh his options.

 

“We finish the job,” he finally declares. “We continue to Summerhall, meet up with Irene, close the deal, and get out.”

 

“What about us?” Seokjin interjects.

 

“You and your brother are getting off at Summerhall just as soon as you can as you can give Yoongi the all-clear,” Namjoon returns decisively. “I’m not keeping you on board one millisecond longer than I have to.”

 

Seokjin worries at his bottom lip for a moment. “And if I can’t?”

 

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to that, now won’t we?” Namjoon replies.

 

“Namjoon,” J-Hope speaks up sharply. “He’s not the one who shot Yoongi. Let him be.”

 

“Don’t know why we haven’t dealt with the person who did,” Cookie says to no one in particular, tapping an irregular staccato on the table with one finger, the banked, smoldering rage in his eyes flaring a little.

 

“What I said in the cargo bay earlier still applies here,” Jimin glares at the boy warningly from across the table. “I’m not going to sit idly by while you kill a defenseless man.”

 

“No one said anything about killing,” Namjoon interjects before this can escalate further. “Though the kid does bring up a good point. Cookie, come with me. Time to figure out how much our little mole knows.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cookie and the Captain stare down at the fed, who’s lying bound and gagged on the floor of his room. After a moment of deliberation, the Captain reaches down and rips the duct tape gag off in one, smooth motion. 

 

“So, as you can imagine, I’m kind of in a bind right now,” Captain begins before the lawman can do more than flinch. “Got me a shipful of strangers all making my life way more exciting than I generally prefer it, particularly one undercover cop who likes to shoot people when he gets nervous. Now, all I want to know from you are two things: one, how close the Republic is, and two, exactly how much you let slip to them before Hobi scrambled your signal.”

 

“Sorry, don’t remember,” the fed grinds out, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

 

“Well then.” The Captain’s usually warm, dimpled smile is all sharp edges and broken glass. It’s the only one of his smiles Cookie doesn’t particularly like, but damn if it isn’t intimidating as all hell. “Hopefully Cookie’s winning presence here will help remind you.”  

 

Cookie wordlessly pulls out a large knife and glares at the lawman, who glares back unflinchingly. Well. Man’s got balls, Cookie will at least give him that.

 

“Remember, you only have to scare him,” Captain murmurs into Cookie’s ear right before he takes his leave. “Blood’s a bitch to get out of carpeting, and if you kill him, I’m going to be upset. And you’ll have to deal with the Shepherd on top of that. I don’t think Hobi will be too pleased with you for awhile, either.”

 

Cookie grimaces at the thought. “Fine.”  Captain shoots him one last warning look before exiting and shutting the door behind him.

 

“The kid? Really?” the lawman is muttering, rolling his eyes. “What the hell is he thinking, getting a brat to do his dirty wo-” The rest of his sentence is cut off by a surprised, terrified yelp as Cookie lurches forward and rams the blade of his knife into the chest of draws right beside the lawman’s head. The metal sinks over an inch deep into the wood as Cookie locks eyes with the prisoner for a long moment.

 

When he finally speaks, the boy’s voice is a low, threatening whisper. “It goes through shoulder next. Start talking.”

 

“You wouldn-“ Without preamble, Cookie grabs the man by the hair and slams his head backward into the chest of drawers. Something dark and feral inside him twists in delight at the pained sound the fed makes in response, and it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses to restrain himself from doing it again _(and again, and again, and again, stab him, gut him, hurt him, rip him apart, kill him, killhimkillhimkillhim **KILL HIM** )_.

 

“ _Lawman shot Yoongi_ ,” Cookie snarls, hand still fisted in the man’s hair, the syllables of his words distorting and elongating so much that they’re barely discernible as human speech. “I fucking _would,_ and more.”

 

“Look, about the mechanic,” the lawman grinds out between clenched teeth, “I’m sorry about that, I really am.” The flash of genuine regret on his face surprises Cookie so much that he lets go of his hair, the bloodlust singing through his veins diminishing somewhat. “It wasn’t my intention. I dislike shooting people on principle, but in this line of work, it’s unavoidable sometimes. I know it won’t change what happened… but for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

 

Cookie doesn’t know what to do with this. Oh sure, he’s used to people apologizing all the time when they’re cornered and staring down the barrel of a gun or the blade of a knife, but it’s never sincere. This though… this is new. Complicated. Cookie doesn’t particularly like complicated.

 

“Captain asked Lawman a question,” he finally says, yanking the knife out of the wood and settling himself in the chair across from the other man. “Start answering.” He brandishes the weapon meaningfully.

 

The cop looks incredulous. “You still think this is a simple smuggling bust? That package the doctor’s carrying-”

 

“It’s a kid, yeah,” Cookie cuts him off. “Crazy kid. Some kind of genius. Doc told us.”

 

“Then you know that he’s important. More than that, he’s unstable. Dangerous. Though I suppose the good doctor would never tell you that part if he wanted to appeal to your sympathy. I’m not exactly sure of all the specifics, I don’t have the clearance for that, but I do know that the longer you have him on this ship, the worse it will be for all of you when he finally snaps. And even if that doesn’t happen, even if you get rid of me, they’ll still be looking for him. They’ll never stop trying to find him. And they know everything about you. Every detail, every name, every record, how many nose hairs you’ve got. You can’t escape them.”

 

Cookie’s eyes harden even as some of the unconscious tension he’d been carrying on his shoulders evaporates. If the Republic can track things half as well as they teach their cops how to withstand interrogation, then they have nothing to worry about “Nearly had me going there, Lawman. Was doing so well, too.”

 

“What-?”

 

“Lawman thinks I can’t tell when I’m being lied to?” Cookie snaps, what little patience he had almost completely gone. “They don’t know a damn thing. Don’t try to deny it.”

 

The cop slumps. “Okay. I can see you’re not an idiot. Jungkook, was it?”

 

“ _Cookie_ ,” he corrects immediately, unable to fully stifle the animalistic growl that bubbles up from deep inside his chest. He makes a mental note to tell Hobi to change all the passwords on Cipher’s internal database later. “Don’t _ever_ call me that again.”

 

“Okay, okay, sorry. Cookie.” If he could, Cookie’s sure that the man would be holding his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. “Let me put this to you another way. That boy? He’s worth a lot of money. A _whole_ lot of money. You kill me, you get nothing. If you help me? You’ll not only have enough money to buy your own ship, way better than this piece of junk, but I’ll talk to some people, pull some strings.” His expression softens almost imperceptibly. “I can tell you’ve fallen in with a hard lot. Done some things you maybe aren’t proud of. Would probably get you arrested in… more civilized places. I can make that all go away.”

 

Cookie finds himself sitting up a little straighter despite himself, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Explain.”

 

“I can get them to wipe your slate clean,” the cop explains. “You can start over, on any planet or moon of your choice. Settle down, go to a proper school, find a girlfriend, have a normal life. One you’d never get out here, in the backwaters of the system. You’d never want for anything again.”

 

Cookie is so overwhelmed by the sheer, impossible magnitude of this concept that he takes over thirty seconds to find his voice. “What… what about the others?”

 

“You mean your crew?” Cookie nods warily. The lawman is silent for a few seconds, obviously trying to figure out how to word what he’s about to say next. Finally, he just shrugs and sighs. “I’ll be honest with you, Cookie. Your captain, your crewmates? They’re complicit in this. They’re adults, and they need to be held accountable for their actions. You, however, are a minor. You can’t be held fully responsible for what the rest of them have you do. Hell, the fact that your captain sent a _teenager_ to interrogate someone says way more about him than it does about you. So in short, there’s only so many strings I can pull, I’m afraid.”

 

“I’d have to leave them behind.” It’s a statement, not a question, but he wants to make sure. He’s had trouble understanding the meaning behind people’s words before, after all.

 

“That is correct.” The brief rush of disappointment that washes over Cookie in the wake of that statement fills him with disgust. He should have known. He should have known. He should have fucking _known_ it was too good to be true _,_ stupid, stupid, _stupid,_ he is so _stupid_.

 

“No.”

 

The man looks genuinely surprised at the whispered refusal. “No? Kid, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here. If your crewmates care about you as much as you seem to care about them, they’d want you to go. Have a better life than the one they can give you.”

 

“Lawman doesn’t know them. Or me. Or why I sail with them. Don’t pretend to.” Cookie stands, slipping his knife back in his sheath as he walks over to the door, sliding it open. “My answer is still no.” 

 

Without waiting for the lawman’s reply, he strides briskly out, slamming the door shut behind him with more force than is probably necessary. He got what he came for. No point in wishing for anything more than that. There never is.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Namjoon arrives on the bridge at a fast trot, finding J-Hope peering at a screen with an uncharacteristically intense expression on his face.

 

“How the hell did they find us so soon?” he demands, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “I thought you said we could get around them no problem.”

 

“They’re not Republic,” J-Hope answers tersely, not taking his eyes off the screen.

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“It’s a small vessel, too small to be Republic. My scans read it as a Triptych, second model.”

 

“I thought second model Triptychs didn’t operate anymore,” Namjoon says, confused.

 

J-Hope finally tears his eyes away from the screen, meeting Namjoon’s gaze. “They don’t.”

 

Namjoon feels like someone just poured ice water down his spine. “Get me a visual,” he demands, hoping, _praying_ his hunch is incorrect.

 

“We’re still too far out-”

 

“Get me _something_!” Namjoon snaps. J-Hope bites his lip at the captain’s fear-harsh tone but complies, fingers flying over buttons and switches before he twists his chair around to stare at an orange screen behind him.

 

“Now that’s odd…” he murmurs. “I’m picking up a lot of radiation. It looks like they’re operating without core containment, but that… that can’t be right. That would be… suicide…” He trails off, face going paper white as the realization hits him.

 

“Reavers,” Namjoon confirms, the icy fear consolidating into a leaden weight in his gut as a tiny speck out in the distance of space approaches them.

 

He fumbles for the comm and speaks into it, trying to quell the trembling in his hands and ignore the panicked litany of “oh God oh God oh God oh God” coming from J-Hope on his right. “This is the captain. We’ll be coming up on another ship in a few minutes. Looks like it’s Reavers. A raiding party, from the size of their ship. I’m asking everyone to please stay calm. If we try to run, they _will_ chase us, so we’ll be staying on course. Just sit tight, and let’s see what they do.”

 

Namjoon deactivates the comm, and abruptly realizes that he left his gun on the table back in the kitchen in his haste to get back up to the bridge. Like hell he’s facing a prospective Reaver raid unarmed and defenseless. “Be right back,” he murmurs to his pilot, placing a large, comforting hand on his faintly trembling shoulder before hightailing it out of the bridge and to the kitchen in record time. He spots the gun, shoves it in its holster, and is on his way back up the stairs when-

 

“Wait!” Namjoon stops short, seeing Seokjin standing on the other side of the room, on his way to the infirmary judging from the bundle of medical supplies he holds in one hand. The other man looks lost and more than a little frightened. “I… I don’t understand.”

 

“You’ve never heard of Reavers before?” Namjoon asks incredulously.

 

“They’re… tall tales. Bogeymen. Stories you tell around a campfire to scare your friends. People gone savage on the edge of space, killing and-”

 

“They’re not stories.” If it was any other time and place, Namjoon would be relishing the look of blank terror on the young doctor’s face right about now. “I’d get the person on board with firsthand experience up here to fill you in on the details, but if I know him, he’s probably holed up in his room under his bunk with his favorite gun and entire knife collection right about now, and honestly, I don’t blame him in the least.”

 

“Hold on… you don’t mean…”

 

“You catch on quick. And yes, I do. Cookie doesn’t really like to talk about it, and we don’t press him, but from what little we’ve been able to pry out of him over the years, he was the sole survivor of a Reaver raid on his town a number of years ago. Kid hid under a pile of bloody corpses for two days while the Reavers raped, killed, and plundered their way through the rest of the town. He was ten or eleven at the time, he doesn’t know exactly. Can’t remember. Can’t remember a lot of things, actually, but it’s probably a blessing, given some of the horror stories I’ve heard from other sources.”

 

Namjoon continues up the stairs without another word or a backward glance. He stands beside J-Hope’s chair, once again resting his hand on the pilot’s shoulder.  J-Hope shakily reaches up and covers Namjoon’s hand with his own, squeezing tightly as the Reaver ship approaches.

 

Closer and closer it comes, revealing itself to be nearly twice the size of the small Butterfly. The ships pass each other silently, the Reaver ship coming close enough to cast a shadow on the smaller craft. But it passes. Holds its course. Makes no move to attack.

 

Namjoon lets out a long breath as J-Hope slumps in his seat. “Guess they weren’t hungry. Didn’t expect to see them so far inward.”

 

“They’re pushing out further and further every year,” J-Hope says, flipping a switch that will give the engines a brief boost of speed.

 

“Getting awful crowded in my sky,” Namjoon observes tersely. God, he needs a cigarette.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Namjoon silently gazes down at Seokjin’s brother, who is lying comatose on the counter under a spare blanket, head propped up by a cushion from the couch outside the infirmary. The boy, Taehyung, is curled in a tight ball on his side, long, lanky limbs pulled in close to his body as he snores softly and cuddles a worn stuffed toy to his chest. The captain remembers the look of childlike joy on Taehyung’s face when Seokjin had held the yellow polka dotted creature with the large heart-shaped head out to him, how he’d snatched it up and crushed it to his chest as if meeting a long lost friend after years of separation. He remembers the way Seokjin had patiently wrestled the boy into a set of spare clothes he’d procured from presumably the same place as the odd toy, the way he conducted his quick checkup and administered a sedative hypo with the utmost gentleness as the other fidgeted and pouted like a grumpy toddler. The way he’d tenderly held Taehyung’s hand and sat with him while waiting for the sedative to kick in, combing crooked fingers through dark, damp hair as large, guileless eyes finally fluttered closed.

 

“Hey, Joonie.” Namjoon whirls around to see Yoongi looking up at him through bleary eyes, a soft, tired smile on his face.

 

“Hey, Yoongs.” Namjoon gently takes his friend’s hand and squeezes it, trying not to show how relieved he is at seeing Yoongi awake and not bleeding his life away all over the floor. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Never better,” Yoongi says breezily, clearly more than a little out of it. “Doc must have me on some pretty strong stuff, though, ‘cause I can’t feel anything below my waist. An’ is it just me, or is gettin’ real cold in here?”

 

Namjoon immediately starts rummaging through a supply cabinet for another blanket at that, trying to quash the burst of panic that ripped through his stomach at that. “Nothing a little rest won’t fix,” He tucks the blanket securely around Yoongi’s lower half, doing his best to not jostle his wound, and takes up Yoongi’s hand again. Namjoon feels him squeeze his hand back reassuringly, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe around the abrupt tightness in his throat. “Which you better do ASAP, since I’m bound to break something else sooner or later, and who’ll fix it if you’re not around, huh?”

 

“Jin fixed me up just fine, you won’t get rid of me that easily,” Yoongi teases drowsily. “Though I guess it’s nice to have confirmation that you just viewed me as a glorified cleaning lady. I always suspected, but now I know.”

 

“Yup, you got me,” Namjoon manages. He will not cry, he won’t, he _will not_ -

 

“Stop crying, you big softie.” Yoongi reaches up with his free hand and clumsily wipes away the few drops of moisture that managed to escape from the captain’s eyes.

 

“I’m not a softie, I’m a monster, remember? Gotta keep up the image.” Despite his best efforts to keep his tone nonchalant, something in Namjoon’s face must have betrayed him, because Yoongi frowns slightly.

 

“What’s wrong, Joon?” He turns his head and spies Taehyung, still slumbering peacefully.  Confusion wrinkles his brow. “An’ where’d the kid come from? Or is that just another side effect of the happy fun lala juice I’m on?”

 

“Remember the doctor’s big silver crate?” Namjoon asks wryly

 

“Don’t tell me…”

 

“Yup. That’s his younger brother, apparently. Rescued him from a top secret government facility or something, if his story’s to be believed, and now they’re on the run from the Republic and using my ship as the getaway vehicle.”

 

“Hm.” Yoongi mulls this new information over for a minute, putting the pieces together, and a spark of clarity briefly ignites in his eyes as he focuses them back on Namjoon, fixing him with a shrewd stare. “What happened wasn’t his fault, you know. Jin’s. Wasn’t your fault either. Whatever you’re planning on doing next, just… keep that in mind, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Namjoon agrees noncommittally. Yoongi looks like he wants to argue the point, but the pull of the drugs is obviously too much to resist any longer, and he goes quiet, eyes closing with a soft sigh. His limp hand nearly slips from Namjoon’s before the captain tightens his grip on it and keeps it from falling to the table.

 

He doesn’t let go of it for at least another half hour.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey, Hobi,” Namjoon pokes his head into the bridge a couple hours later. “You called?”  

 

“Yup!” J-Hope sets one of his plastic figurines back on the console and swivels his chair around. The man looks tried, but remarkably more chipper than he’d been just a few scant hours ago. “We got a ping from Irene a little while ago. She wants you to contact her back as soon as possible. Looks like she’s interested in the cargo after all.”

 

Namjoon lets out a long breath. “Good. At least something’s going right today. Answer the ping, we’ll see if we can make this happen.” He steps into the room as J-Hope busies himself with the control board, and sees Cookie sitting cross-legged on the floor behind one of the other consoles, a number of J-Hope’s figurines scattered around him. The boy gives him a wan smile and a small wave.

 

“How you holding up, kiddo?” Namjoon folds his long body up into a crouch to be at eye level with him.

 

“Captain doesn’t have to worry about me.” Cookie looks at the floor, absently toying with a dog figurine.

 

“You’re right, I don’t. That doesn’t stop me from doing it anyway.”

 

The kid glances up, dark, doe eyes large and full of ghosts. “I’ll… be okay. Just… need some space.”

 

Namjoon nods, understanding. “Fair enough. I take that to mean you haven’t gone to see Yoongi yet, then?”

 

Cookie shakes his head, gnawing at his bottom lip as he glances back down at the floor guiltily. “Later.” 

 

“Not too much later, I hope.” The captain makes sure to interject enough of a teasing lilt into his tone so that Cookie can’t mistake it for something else. “He was asking for you earlier, you know.”

 

“Really?” The captain can’t help but grin wider at the shy delight that sparks in the kid’s haunted eyes at that.

 

“Aaaaand sent.” Meanwhile, J-Hope hits one final switch. “Alrighty, she should be answering any minute now. Speaking of Yoongi, how’s he doing? Is he really okay?”

 

Namjoon nods, smiling reassuringly as he straightens. “Sitting up and chatting with the Shepherd as we speak. He’ll probably be up and walking within the week, too, barring any complications. I honestly wasn’t expecting him to wake up so soon, or to start healing so quickly. Doctor knows what he’s doing, I’ll give him that.”

 

J-Hope slumps back in his chair with a long sigh of relief. “Thank heavens.” The console gives a loud ping, and a panel lights up orange. “Ah, here she is.”

 

“Put her on screen.” Namjoon rakes his fingers through his hair once and comes to stand directly in front of the screen, schooling his expression into one of neutral politeness. Instead of the stern, hardened woman he expects to see, however, there’s a young, teenage girl, poking at the camera with her tongue sticking partially out of her mouth.

 

“Is this thing on? Ah yes, good.” She leans back, flips a lock of her purple-dyed hair behind one shoulder, and folds her hands imperiously in front of her, glaring at the camera. “State your name and business, stranger.”

 

“Uh…” Namjoon exchanges a confused aside glance with J-Hope, who looks just as bewildered as Namjoon currently feels.

 

 “Yeri!” comes a distant bellow from offscreen, and the picture abruptly cuts to a woman in her early thirties calmly staring at the camera, a crease between her eyebrows the only sign of agitation on her face.

 

“Namjoon Kim?”

 

“Hello, Irene. So, who’s the kid? Didn’t think you were the type to start adopting strays,” Namjoon quips.

 

“Could have said the same for you until a couple years ago. And she’s not mine. My sister’s oldest. I’m watching her while her ma’s out of town.” She grimaces slightly. “Girl fancies herself a hacker. But I have to say, Namjoon, I didn’t expect to be hearing from you again so soon. Or ever.”

 

“Well, I know we may not have parted on the best of terms. I realize certain words were exchanged. Also, certain... bullets... but the past is in the past. We’re business people, you and I. Besides, last I heard, your days of fighting over salvage rights and property laws are behind you. What are you, governor now?”

 

“In all but name. You telling the truth about that cargo? Because your asking price seems just a bit too reasonable for what you say it is.”

 

“It's imprinted,” Namjoon explains. “Republic. Hence the hefty discount.”

 

A shrewd look comes into the woman’s eyes. “Ah. Government goods, then.”

 

“If that doesn’t work for you, I understand. Just thought you might have a use for the supplies.”

 

Irene smiles coldly at that. “You should know by now that the Republic doesn’t scare me, Namjoon. I like that you're being up front about it, though. You have yourself a deal. I'll send your pilot coordinates for a rendezvous point outside our town, near Roulette Lake.”

 

“Fantastic.” Namjoon smiles, making sure to show every one of his teeth. “Hey, how about you bring the girl along, too? I’ll bring Cookie, we can introduce them, could be the start of a wonderful thing. Unless, of course, you think things could get dangerous out there away from civilization.”

 

Irene freezes for a split second, but it’s still more than enough time to tell Namjoon everything he needs to know. “Not at all, but Yeri has her studies to think about, so I’ll have to politely decline. Maybe some other time.”

 

“Maybe.” Namjoon keeps the smile firmly plastered on his face despite the anger starting to bubble up inside him. “Well, see you in the world, Irene.”

 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Namjoon.” The screen does dark a split second before Namjoon snatches up the nearest thing at hand and hurls it against the wall.

 

“Hey!” J-Hope squawks indignantly, scrambling to rescue the dinosaur figurine. “Dammit Namjoon, you’re lucky that wasn’t a collector’s item!”

 

“I do believe,” Namjoon mutters, gripping the side of the console so hard his joints creak, “that woman might be planning to shoot me again.”

 

“Trigger-happy lady meant to pay, she’d have tried to haggle,” Cookie points out, getting to his feet in one smooth motion. “And brought the girl.” He grimaces at the thought, cheeks dusted with the slightest tinge of pink.

 

“You’re going to have to get used to the thought of talking to the fairer sex sooner or later, Cookie. Might as well make it sooner,” J-Hope observes amusedly, carefully setting his figurine back on the console just in time for the captain to give it an irate kick. “DAMMIT NAMJOON.” He catches the figurine before it hits the ground and glares heatedly at his friend. “You’re going to break the whole ship at this rate if you’re not careful. What’s gotten into you today?”

 

 “You want a detailed list, or would a summary suffice?” Namjoon bites out caustically.

 

“Captain, we don’t have to deal with her.” Cookie gets in between the two men before the situation can escalate. “There’s worlds out there we haven’t tried our luck on yet. Maybe-”

 

“Do any of you notice anything particular about our luck these past few days?” Namjoon retorts. “Any kind of pattern?” The other two glance away wordlessly. “That’s what I thought. You depend too much on luck, you end up crawling to the Republic for handouts. Towed out to the scrap belt with no prospects, no dignity, no self-respect. That isn’t us, and it won’t ever be. Not now, not ever. Irene made the deal, and she’ll keep it, one way or another.” He turns to J-Hope. “What’s our ETA to Summerhall?”

 

“About an hour and a half, last I checked,” the pilot says shortly, plopping back down in his chair after gathering up the figurines Cookie had been playing with earlier.

 

“Good. Cookie, meet me in the cargo bay in fifteen minutes. We have some planning to do.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Summerhall is a dusty, barren, altogether unpleasant place, in Namjoon’s personal opinion. He kicks at a small cactus growing out of the dusty soil in the valley. Or maybe that’s just the place Irene told them to meet her. He kind of doubts it, though. The moon didn’t look all that much better from orbit. The sound of approaching footsteps pulls his attention back to the present.

 

“Everything’s set up, Captain,” Cookie says, a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder and a walkie talkie clipped to his belt. “I still don’t like this, though. We’re outnumbered, outgunned, outmanned. Makes my skin itchy.”

 

“Well, it’s not like we have any choice,” Namjoon sighs. “Yoongi’s in no shape to be up and about, I need Hobi behind the controls in case we need to make a quick getaway, and it’s not like I can ask the passengers to come along. It’s just you and me, kid.”

  
Cookie salutes smartly. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

 

“Remember the plan, and don’t kill anyone if you don’t have to. We’re here to make a deal, not start our own cemetery.” Cookie nods and takes off at a brisk trot toward the hills surrounding the small valley. Namjoon watches him go until he’s out of sight, and then sets off into the valley himself.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jimin leans against the wall outside the passenger dorms, currently in the middle of a crisis of conscience. He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth absently, looking towards the infirmary, then towards the room Henry is being held in, then back again.

 

Despite the captain’s assurances that the lawman wouldn’t be killed, Jimin has serious doubts about how truthful his words had been. If nothing else, the look in the intern’s eyes in the cargo bay and again when he had brought him up at the meeting in the kitchen told the young preacher that if the kid had his way, Henry would already be dead, probably a few times over by now. Jimin harbors no real love for the Republic anymore, but even so, that doesn’t mean he wants Henry to _die_. The man was just doing his job, after all.

 

However, there’s also the matter of Jin and his brother to consider. Jimin has no reason to think the doctor had been lying earlier; he remembers the quiet passion in Jin’s words as he’d told his story and he knows the kind of absolute devotion he’d seen for a brief moment in the older man’s eyes can’t be faked. And the boy, Taehyung, is clearly not well, whatever else Jimin may believe Jin’s story or the circumstances surrounding their current presence on the ship. It would be cruelty of the highest degree to send the kid right back into the hands of the people who had caused his condition in the first place.

 

Jimin massages his forehead, willing the gears in his brain to go faster, trying to think of a solution to this predicament that doesn’t get anyone captured or killed. The captain had said he wanted the brothers off the ship as soon as possible. If they played their cards correctly, it’s quite likely they could find another ship and escape to another world by the time the lawman is able to call in reinforcements. Hell, if it came to that, Jimin would be quite willing to help them do it. If they could dump Henry in a remote settlement without interstellar communication… get Jin and Taehyung another ride in a port city… then the captain and his crew would likely have enough time to change their ship’s identification and lay low so that Henry can’t turn them in.

 

After turning the idea around a bit more in his head, Jimin nods to himself and pushes off the wall, making a beeline for Henry’s room. He doesn’t know how he feels quite yet about aiding and abetting people he’s pretty sure are working on the wrong side of the law, but this is likely the best solution he’s going to think of on short notice that gets everyone out of the situation alive.

 

He taps on the door lightly. “Henry? It’s Shepherd Park. Jimin.” He carefully slides the door open. “I think you’re in danger, and-” Something hard and heavy collides with his temple, sending white stars exploding across his vision. He stumbles, falling to his hands and knees, the world swimming in and out of focus.

 

“Sorry, Jimin. Nothing personal.”

 

Jimin dimly feels himself being dragged into the room, catching a brief glimpse of a jagged piece of plywood and torn pieces of duct tape before darkness sweeps over him like a wave and drags him into blissful unconsciousness.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After about ten minutes of walking, Namjoon spies a group of three horses crest a rise ahead of him, followed by a transport mule. As they near, he can make out Irene riding in front, her back straight and proud, and a grin curls her lips once she catches sight of him.

 

“Namjoon!” Her eyes rove around the small valley, and then fixate back on him. “Bit brazen to go strutting around for a walk all by your lonesome around these parts. Where’s the whelp you picked up? Was looking forward to seeing if he’s learned any manners since the last time I saw him.” The woman driving the mule very unconvincingly disguises a giggle as a cough.

 

“Rest of the crew’s currently engaged in some business elsewhere,” he answers, spreading his arms. “What, is my regal presence not enough?”

 

“Not if I don’t see my cargo,” Irene says pointedly. “And I don’t.”

 

“And you’re not. Not until I’m holding two hundred platinum.”

 

“Oh come on, Kim. What, you expect me take it on faith you’ve got the goods?” Namjoon very carefully and deliberately reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a bar wrapped in foil, tossing it to a woman with the tips of her brown hair dyed yellow. She catches it easily and hands it off to Irene, who unwraps it.

 

“Genuine, A-Grade foodstuffs, Irene. Protein, vitamins, immunization supplements. One of those'll feed a family for a month. Longer, if they’re not too fond of their kids.” The woman takes a small nibble, and chews thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding and pocketing the bar.

 

“Yup, that’s the stuff alright.” She takes a leather drawstring bag out of her coat and tosses it to Namjoon. It’s reassuringly heavy in his hand. “So, where’s the rest?”

 

“Follow the river half a mile, then head due west another mile. It’s buried at the bottom of the third hill, under a dead willow tree. You’ll see where it’s dug up.”

 

“I suppose I will.”

 

“Well then.” Namjoon inclines his head. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

Nobody moves.

 

“I’d appreciate it if you all turned around and rode out first,” Namjoon finally says after a few moments of stifling silence.

 

“Well, you see,” Irene begins, looking actually a little regretful. Namjoon’s stomach sinks a little in his gut. “There’s been a bit of a hitch.”

 

“We both agreed on this deal,” he says sharply. “Don’t back out now.” He sees the woman with blue-dyed hair inch her hand toward her gun, and stiffens just a split second before a gunshot rings out and a bullet impacts the ground directly in front of Irene’s horse. The animal rears in alarm, and Namjoon has his gun drawn in the next breath, pointing it straight at the woman’s forehead.

 

“There’s no need to resort to violence, Irene,” Namjoon says calmly. “But if you don’t back off right the hell now, things are going to get real ugly real quick. I’d hate for sweet little Yeri to have to go back home to her ma ahead of schedule.” He can see the gears visibly turning in Irene’s head, and can pinpoint the exact moment she comes to the conclusion pressing further under unknown circumstances just isn’t worth it.

 

She holds out her hand, and the other women give her confused looks before releasing their grips on their own weapons. “Well played, Namjoon. Let’s go, girls.” With that, she turns her horse around and begins riding out of the valley at a brisk trot, closely followed by her underlings. Namjoon waits until the last one is out of sight, and then finally drops his gun, letting out a long, loud breath.

 

“Well,” comes Cookie’s tinny, vaguely disappointed voice through his earpiece. “That could have gone a whole lot worse.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taehyung’s eyes fly open, and he bolts upright, alarm written over every inch of his facial expression. “Jin…?”

 

“What’s wrong, kid?” Yoongi asks, setting aside the book Namjoon had lent him earlier. “Nightmare?” Taehyung ignores him and scrambles off the counter, his long limbs nearly getting tangled in his blanket in the process. He wanders over to the open door, looking both lost and frightened… where he’s abruptly collared and yanked into a brutal chokehold, the barrel of a gun pressed to his temple.

 

“Well, look at you, all woken up and raring to go,” Henry says conversationally, as if commenting about the weather. Taehyung whimpers wordlessly, terrified tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Yoongi starts to sit up further, and Henry yanks out another gun and points it straight at him, keeping the other pressed against Taehyung’s head. The mechanic freezes, settling for glaring metaphorical daggers at the other man in the absence of his physical ones.

 

“I’m sorry about what happened before, but I’m afraid that if you make so much as a sound, I’ll have no choice but to send the next bullet through your skull.” Henry holds his gaze for another split second before grabbing the boy around the neck again and dragging him back toward the dorms.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“-And don’t ever, I mean _ever_ , get on an Elyxion cruiser, especially a mark 4 model, okay, they fall right out the sky if you so much as breathe wrong in their general direction.” J-Hope pauses momentarily for breath, before being distracted by the scratch of pencil lead against paper. “…Are you actually taking notes?”

 

“Well, of course,” Seokjin replies from the copilot’s seat, tapping the tip of his pencil against the small notebook he apparently pulled out of thin air, because it certainly wasn’t there a few minutes ago. “I know next to nothing about ships, so anything you can tell me for future reference is appreciated.”

 

“Ah, it’s no problem.” J-Hope waves him off, taking his boots off the console in front of him and stretching luxuriously before leveling Seokjin with a thoughtful look. “Yoongi’s… very important. To all of us. It’s the least I can do in return for you saving him, really.”

 

“About that,” Seokjin says, looking at the floor guiltily. “I’m… sorry. For my part in what happened. I didn’t… I never…”

 

“You were just trying to save your brother,” J-Hope says gently. “I can’t fault you for that. I mean, sure, I’m not really that happy about a friend of mine getting a hole punched in his gut, but when all is said and done, nobody died and we didn’t get eaten by Reavers. All things considered, I’d say things could totally be worse.”

 

“I guess you have a point.” Seokjin smiles wanly, but hey, he looks a little less like he expects the floor to open up and swallow him, so J-Hope considers it a win.

 

“You know, if I were you, I’d be thinking about asking Namjoon to kick you out somewhere else,” J-Hope continues, absently adjusting one of his figurines. “Summerhall isn’t exactly civilization in the strictest sense of the word. Ships don’t really come around all that often, and a city slicker like you? You’d be easy pickings for folks around here. No offense.”

 

“None taken. But you don’t need to worry about us,” Jin sighs.  

 

“Cookie and the captain are out on a deal, I’m already worried,” J-Hope returns. “So it’s not like it’s out of my way-”

 

The comm suddenly crackles to life, and Yoongi’s voice, tight and strained and barely more than a whisper, filters through the speakers. “He took him… he took the kid…”

 

Seokjin is hightailing from the room at a dead sprint before J-Hope can even blink, the notebook and pencil he previously held clattering to the ground a second later. The pilot is halfway out of his own chair, primed to follow on his heels, when a beeping noise coming from the proximity alarm stops him dead in his tracks. He glances at the screen… and his blood turns to ice in his veins.

 

“Oh no…”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Seokjin heads directly to the cargo bay, his thoughts a blank whirl of panic. No, not again, they’re taking Tae from him again, no, not when he just got him out of that hellhole, no, no, please God no-

 

And then he emerges onto the catwalk overlooking the cargo bay, and sees Henry pulling Taehyung’s considerably taller frame behind him toward the airlock, gripping him tightly by one of his thin wrists. He hits the door release button and the cargo bay doors begin to open, letting in a sliver of bright sunlight. Seokjin’s world crystallizes and narrows down to a single point.

 

_Over my dead body._

 

Without even hesitating, he leaps from the catwalk right on top of the unsuspecting cop.  The two men go tumbling, the guns Henry was holding sliding across the floor. Both of them just lie there for a moment, too winded and stunned to get up and get the guns.

 

Taehyung scrambles backward into a corner, hands pressed tightly against his ears, keening low in his throat as tears continue to trickle steadily down his cheeks. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Namjoon turns a bend in the valley, and breathes a bit easier once the Cipher comes into view in the distance. A clatter of rocks and dirt from his left are all the warning he gets before-

 

“CAPTAIN!” Namjoon whirls around to see Cookie tearing down the hill at full speed, walkie-talkie in hand, his eyes wide and full of absolute, unadulterated terror. “It’s Hobi! A ship’s coming in! They followed us! The Reavers followed us!”

 

Namjoon doesn’t even bother to reply; he breaks into a run alongside Cookie, and the two dash for the ship.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Henry lunges for the closest gun before Seokjin manages to throw himself on top of him, too hopped up on adrenaline to fully feel the effects of leaping from a second floor catwalk. The two grapple for an ugly few moments before Henry wrenches an elbow free and smashes it into Seokjin’s cheek. Seokjin’s grip on him loosens enough that he’s able to start crawling for his weapon again, but then Seokjin rolls, grabs the other gun, and points it straight at the cop.

 

“Don’t move!” he orders, breathing hard, the entire right side of his face throbbing painfully.

 

“Reavers!” J-Hope’s panicked voice sounds across the ship-wide comm. “We got Reavers incoming, people, we are taking off in T-minus one minute!” The engines roar to life under their feet. “Guess they got hungry again,” the pilot mutters to himself loud enough for the speaker to catch before the comm cuts out entirely.

 

Jin continues holding the gun on Henry, hand shaking visibly. “You expect me to believe you’d really pull that trigger? That you’d kill a lawman in cold blood?” Henry comments. “I know what you did for your brother. That doesn’t mean you’re a killer. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I just have a job to do. You broke the law, Seokjin. You need to answer for that. Just stop running and give yourself up. There’s nowhere you can take him the Republic won’t find.” He begins to stand up.

 

“I said- I said don’t move!” Seokjin yells, grabbing the gun with both hands and trying to keep them steady.

 

“It’s your call, Seokjin,” Henry replies, standing fully. “Can you really do it?” Jin bites his lip, eyes darting to Taehyung. Suddenly, the airlock doors begin to open, distracting the doctor just long enough for Henry to grab his own gun and fire. Seokjin darts out of the way in the nick of time, ducking behind a crate instinctively. Henry reaches down, grabs Taehyung by the collar of his shirt, and hauls him to his feet, placing himself securely behind the boy and holding the gun to his head again.

 

“Alright, let’s try this again. If anyone makes so much as a-”

 

A gun fires.

 

Henry drops like a stone. The captain strides briskly into the cargo bay from behind Seokjin. “Cookie!”

 

The boy smacks the switch to close the bay doors as he passes and sprints to the comm, panting like he’s just run a marathon. “Hobi, we’re on!”

 

Namjoon grabs the dead cop by the collar of his shirt and drags him to the retracting ramp, dumping him out before hurrying back inside just as the airlock seals. “Bridge, now,” he orders Cookie tersely, before jogging out of the room, closely followed by the kid.

 

On the way out, they pass Jimin, who’s propping himself up against the door, blood trickling down the side of his face as he stares blankly into the room, eyes still fixated on the spot Henry’s body had fallen. And then Taehyung gives a soft sob as he stumbles backward, and Jin drops the gun, hurrying to his brother’s side.

 

Taehyung instinctually flinches away as Seokjin nears, making panicked, frightened noises as he glances around wildly, not seeming to know where he is anymore.

 

“Taetae, it’s okay, the bad man’s gone now,” he soothes as he reaches out for his brother. “It’s okay, but we need to go now.”

 

“Not gone away now,” Taehyung mutters nonsensically, finally allowing Jin to take him by the arm and start leading him from the cargo bay. He looks up at the ceiling with a fearful expression as the ship takes off. “Not okay.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“How close are they, Hobi?” Namjoon asks tersely, coming up on the bridge.

 

“Way closer than I’d like,” the pilot replies, flipping a switch before gripping the controls tightly enough to turn his knuckles bone white.

 

“Lose them, then!” Cookie snaps, visibly vibrating from pent up nervous energy.

 

“Get me a rear view,” Namjoon says. Cookie, glad to have something to do, complies, punching up the appropriate command on the rear control panel. The decrepit Triptych from before appears on screen, leaking copious amounts of black smoke as it chases them. “How close do they need to be to fire those harpoon grapples?”

 

“Come on, Hobi, lose them, lose them!”

 

“If everyone could just be quiet for a bit,” J-Hope says in a remarkably flat tone before yanking the controls to the right, causing the ship to swerve sharply in the same direction. The Reaver ship stays right on their tail. J-Hope continues to weave back and forth in between the rock formations of the mountain range near Irene’s settlement, his face a mask of calm.

 

“I need Yoongi in the engine room, please,” he requests serenely, as if he was ordering a slice of chocolate cake for dessert.

 

“Can he even-?” Cookie begins dubiously, before he’s cut off by Namjoon.

 

“Get him in there. Now.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung reach the infirmary just as Cookie steps out of it, holding a white-faced Yoongi securely in his arms.

 

“You three, go hide,” he orders once he sees them.

 

“I think I can help you out,” Jimin says, stepping forward. Yoongi hesitates for a split second, then nods, and Cookie takes off down the hall, straight for the engine room.

 

“Should I-” Seokjin starts, stopping when Jimin turns and presses one of Henry’s guns into his hand.

 

“Take this. Take him, go hole up in your room, bar the door, and don’t open it for anything or anyone unless you hear the captain give the all clear. I had a little brother, once. Keep yours safe.”

 

The two hold each other’s gazes for a long moment before Jin nods once and tugs Taehyung down the hall with him.

 

Jimin hurries to the engine room just in time to see Cookie delicately prop Yoongi up in a corner, the injured man wincing despite the boy’s best efforts to be careful. Over the comm comes the captain’s tense voice.

 

“We can’t keep dodging them forever, Hobi, they get a bead, they’re going to lock us down.”

 

Instead of answering, J-Hope speaks directly into the comm. “How’re we doing, Yoongi? Going to need a boost here in a bit.”

 

“You want me to go for full burn?” Yoongi asks.

 

“Not just yet, but set it up.”

 

Yoongi turns and looks at Jimin. “Do you know where the press regulator is?”

 

Through the pounding ache in his skull, Jimin reluctantly thinks back to the awful four months he spent working in a shipyard. After looking around for a moment, he wanders over to the rear part of the engine and points to one particular panel, glancing wordlessly back at Yoongi. The mechanic smiles tightly.

 

“Head of the class, this one.” Whatever he was about to say next is cut off by a short, sharp cough, and his face briefly contorts in pain.

 

A few moments later, Yoongi’s worryingly faint voice filters through the ship’s speakers to the two men on the bridge. “Ready for full burn on your mark, Hobi.”

 

“A full burn in atmo?” Namjoon cuts in, sounding confused. “Won’t that cause a blowback? Burn the engines out? And even if it doesn’t, what makes you think the Reavers won’t try the same thing?”

 

J-Hope grins grimly. “Way ahead of you. Yoongi,” he speaks into the comm, “How do you feel about pulling a Spine Breaker?”

 

Back in the engine room, the mechanic grins, the expression just a little bit wild. “Always wanted to try one of those. Cook.” The teen immediately snaps to attention. “Open the port jet control and kill the hydraulics.”

 

Cookie starts forward and then stops, looking around. “Where…?”

 

“Look, brat, where I’m pointing.” Cookie follows Yoongi’s faintly trembling finger and opens a panel near the floor, revealing a massive tangle of wires. “Now, don’t panic, it’s real simple.”

 

On the bridge, Namjoon watches the Reaver ship ready it’s grappling harpoons on the rearview screens, the magnetic latches holding them down flying off. “Hobi, they’ve got a lock on us.”

 

“Yoongi?” J-Hope asks calmly.

 

“Come on. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, come _on_ …” Namjoon mutters, fighting the urge to bite his knuckles bloody as the Reaver ship begins closing steadily in on the screen.

 

Ten seconds.

 

Fifteen.

  
The Reavers are almost on top of them.

 

“Okay,” Yoongi finally says.

 

“Everybody hold onto something,” J-Hope orders, eyes narrowing, a faint smirk appearing on his lips. Under his breath he adds, “Watch and be amazed, you savage bastards.”

 

Not having to be told twice, Namjoon flings himself into the copilot’s seat and buckles the harness right as J-Hope reaches up, yanks a lever down, and Cipher’s port jet twists around, the ship lurching into a perfect one-eighty degree flip. The jet then spins back to its original position, and the ship catapults straight for the Reavers, who dodge at the very last second.

 

“NOW!” J-Hope bellows into the comm.

 

In the engine room, Jimin pulls a lever, Cookie smacks a button, and the engine spins faster and faster, glowing so bright it almost hurts to look at, before a burst of speed almost knocks everyone still standing off their feet. The ship blasts up into the atmosphere, arcing up toward space as J-Hope pulls up on the controls with every ounce of strength he possesses. 

 

Finally, blue turns to white-dotted black outside the bridge windows and Summerhall falls away behind them. J-Hope lets out a long, slow breath. Namjoon can only stare at him in quiet amazement.

 

“I swear, Hoseok Jung, every day you find new ways to surprise me.” He leans over and hits the comm. “We’re good, people. They’ll be eating our dust for at least a week.”

 

Cookie’s giddy whoops of delight can be heard all the way in the bridge, and Jimin finds himself grinning ear to ear despite the situation. Yoongi slumps against the wall of the ship, running a hand across the metal of the floor, a soft, proud smile on his face. “That’s my girl. That’s my good, good girl.”

 

Back in one of the passenger rooms, Seokjin holds a trembling Taehyung tighter and finally feels his heart rate begin to return to normal.

 

“Okay…” J-Hope carefully pries his hands off the controls. “Okay. I need… I need to go de-stress for a bit. Cookie has the helm. You come within a foot of it, Namjoon, I will know, and I will kick your disaster-prone ass straight out the airlock myself.”

 

“Yessir, Captain Jung, sir,” Namjoon salutes as J-Hope shakily stumbles out the door.

 

“No one likes a smartass, Namjoon.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The heavy bass beat of a random dance remix number reverberates throughout the cargo hold as J-Hope loses himself in the music, popping, locking, and twirling with abandon, far past the point of caring if his moves are stiff or clumsy. Even after all this time, nothing helps him loosen up and unwind more than dancing does, especially after a particularly stressful day of flying.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Shepherd wander into the room. Used to people randomly walking in on his dancing, he ignores him as he walks closer and closer, leaning up against a stack of crates, simply observing. And then, to his immense astonishment, Jimin actually joins in the freestyle dance, mirroring his movements almost perfectly. J-Hope almost loses his place in the dance, he’s so shocked, but he recovers admirably.

 

The duet soon turns into a dance battle, with the two of them trying to one-up each other’s moves with every subsequent round. J-Hope hasn’t had this much fun in a long time. As the last notes of the song begin to fade out, the two finally come to a standstill.

 

“Not bad,” J-Hope says, panting, grinning large and heart-shaped at the other. “Didn’t think preachers were into dancing.” 

 

Jimin grins back, a bit more subdued. “You know what they say about assuming. To be fair, most of us aren’t, but it was a… hobby of mine, before I joined the abbey. I still enjoy it, from time to time. Couldn’t help but notice you were favoring your left leg for most of those moves, though.” He gestures to said appendage, looking faintly concerned. “Does Jin need to take a look at anything?”

 

“I don’t think there’s much Jin could do for me, kid,” J-Hope replies, wandering over to the music player to turn it off. He sits down on the crate next to it and raps his knuckles against his right knee. Jimin’s eyes widen as a dull, metallic clanking noise rings out in the still air of the cargo bay. “Lost everything from the thigh down when I was seventeen. Hovercar pileup. Just another pedestrian that was reported as ‘collateral damage’ in the newsfeeds afterward.”

 

“Oh…” Jimin looks like he’s been punched in the stomach. “I’m… sorry.”

 

“It’s in the past,” J-Hope shrugs as casually as he can manage, mopping the sweat off his brow with a nearby rag. “I dealt. And hey, having the kibosh put on my professional dancing career forced me to finally confront my fear of heights so I could save all your sorry hides today.”

 

“You’re afraid of heights?” Jimin asks incredulously.

 

“Not so much when I’m in a ship anymore, I’m used to that by now, but put it this way; don’t ask me to go bungee jumping or on a roller coaster unless you want me to puke all over you and blow your eardrums out with my screaming.”

 

“I’d… never have guessed.”

 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he replies wryly. Looking to change the subject, J-Hope then observes, “Got the doc to fix _you_ up, though, I see.”

 

“Oh… yeah.” Jimin absently touches a hand to the small bandage taped to his scalp and winces. “It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse. He gave me some painkillers and told me to go take it easy before making sure Yoongi was okay and then leaving to go help his brother with… I don’t know, something.”

 

“I’m not sure if his definition of ‘taking it easy’ includes dancing.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure it doesn’t,” Jimin sighs, settling beside the taller man on the crate. “But what Jin doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

 

J-Hope chuckles. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” They lapse into a companionable silence. 

 

“Is this what life is like?” Jimin asks suddenly. “Out here?”

 

“Sometimes,” J-Hope says slowly, wondering where Jimin is going with this.

 

“It’s just… I've been out of the abbey two days. I've beaten a lawman senseless, and I’m pretty sure the captain of this ship doesn’t always deal on the right side of the law. I watched said captain shoot the man I swore to protect.” Jimin falls silent. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “And I'm not even sure if I think he was wrong.”

 

J-Hope’s heart breaks a little at how lost the other sounds, and he’s suddenly painfully reminded of how young the boy really is. “Jimin…”

 

“I just… I think… J-Hope, am I… on the wrong ship?” Jimin looks up entreatingly at the pilot, eyes damp and so, so lost.

 

“I don’t claim to be an expert,” he replies after taking a couple seconds to gather his thoughts. “But if you’re asking for my opinion on the matter, for what little it’s worth… I think maybe you’re exactly where you need to be.” He tentatively places an arm around the boy’s shoulders, ready to back off if the other isn’t comfortable with it. He needn’t have worried; Jimin practically melts into the embrace, burying his face into J-Hope’s shoulder.

 

And if the pilot notices the tears starting to soak into his flight suit, well. He can always just say they’re sweat stains later. No big deal.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You don’t have to worry about nightmares,” Seokjin quietly tells Taehyung as he tucks the boy into his room’s second bed. “The shot I gave you will help you sleep. No dreams.”

 

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Taehyung grumbles petulantly, hugging the Tata plushie retrieved from the infirmary to his chest and sticking out his lower lip in a childish pout. “I’ve slept so much already.”

 

“Just a little while more,” Seokjin soothes, smoothing down the blanket before settling on the edge of the bed. “Just until we find a place. A safe place.” He ignores the thought that such a place might not even exist, and instead focuses on putting on the most genuine smile he can for Taehyung. And it isn’t hard. Despite everything, the joy he feels at having his brother back at last trumps all other emotions currently fighting for his attention. Seeing Taehyung here, in front of him, after so much time and hardship… sometimes he still has trouble believing this is real.

 

Taehyung appears to share the sentiment, because his pout disappears and he reaches up with one hand to briefly trace the side of Seokjin’s face with long, scarred fingers. His large, dark eyes, which are starting to glaze over from the drugs, sharpen for a moment, and fill with a deep, immeasurable sadness.

 

“I didn’t think you’d come for me.”

 

“Well, then you,” Jin lightly boops the tip of Taehyung’s nose with a finger, trying to keep his tone of voice light despite the sudden lump in his throat, “are a dummy.”

 

The watery smile that spreads across Taehyung’s face is mere ghost of the bright, boxy grins Seokjin remembers, but it’s still the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long, long time. The boy holds out his arms to his brother entreatingly, like a child asking their parent to pick them up, and Seokjin obliges him gladly, scooping Taehyung into a tight hug. Taehyung nuzzles his face into Jin’s shoulder and gives a soft, shaky sigh, returning the embrace as best he’s able.

 

“Stay?” The tentative request could almost be mistaken for a slightly louder-than-average exhale, but Seokjin hears it clearly. He hesitates for only a second before climbing onto the bed, laying on his side and cradling Taehyung’s lanky, thin frame in his arms as the boy snuggles contentedly into his chest. Seokjin tucks Taehyung’s head under his chin and begins to rub circles into his back with his other hand, as if Taehyung is still the same tiny, bright-eyed child with the tousled hair and skinned knees that used to creep into his bed every other night so that his older brother’s presence could chase away his nightmares.

 

After only a couple minutes of this, Taehyung’s eyes start to droop shut, and he’s soon snoring softly. Jin knows he’ll eventually have to get up to face the world again, start making plans for what they’re going to do next after the captain inevitably kicks them off the ship at the next port. But for now, he’s content to just lie there, feeling Taehyung’s heart beat steadily opposite his own.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Kid’s trouble.”

 

Namjoon looks askance at Cookie, who’s staring straight ahead out the window, both hands on the controls. After a few moments of silence, the boy elaborates. “Lawman said they’d keep looking for him. Something about his brain being all important and special to the Republic. Bottom line, sooner we dump the doc and the kid, the better.”

 

“Suppose so,” Namjoon replies noncommittally. He glances at the boy shrewdly. “What did he offer you?”

 

Cookie looks away.

 

“Come on, kid, I know you, and I know how they work. He offered you something. Was it money?”

 

“Said he’d get me a new start on a random world of my choice. Said I could have… anything I wanted.”

 

“Ah. Why didn’t you take it?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why didn’t you take his offer?”

 

“Captain…” Hurt fills Cookie’s large eyes. “How could you… I would never… Lawman said I would have to _leave_. Hobi, Yoongi, you. Said that was what you would want. Could never. Would never. It’s not _true_.”

 

“Cookie… If you found a better offer somewhere… found someplace you wanted to stay and start your own life, none of us would begrudge you that. You know that, right?”

 

“Don’t want better,” Cookie says firmly. “Want _this._ " Namjoon can't decide whether he should feel touched or guilty at that. 

 

"It’s weird, though,” the boy adds thoughtfully after a moment.

 

“What is?”  

 

“I’m… I’m almost sorry you had to shoot the lawman.” He looks at Namjoon in confusion. “Isn’t that weird? It’s better this way, I know, but… he was trying to look out for me. I could tell.”

 

“It’s not weird, Cookie,” Namjoon sighs. He's not cut out for this. He never was. Teaching a traumatized, half-feral child how to be a person again was never in his job description, and their line of work doesn't exactly make it easier. “He was just doing his job and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a person, and people are complicated sometimes.”

A polite cough from the direction of the door makes Namjoon turn to see Seokjin standing just outside. “Keep on course, kid,” he murmurs to Cookie as he hauls himself out of the copilot’s chair. “I’ll be back in a bit.” Cookie hums in acknowledgement and goes back to staring out pensively into the blackness of space.

 

“You need me to take a look at that?” Jin asks once Namjoon steps out of the bridge and follows him down the stairs, pointing to a scrape on his arm Namjoon hadn’t even noticed before. It must be from J-Hope’s Spine Breaker.

 

“It’s nothing.” Namjoon rolls his sleeve down to cover it. “What did you want?”

 

“I wanted to ask where you planned on dumping us. So I can be prepared.”

 

Namjoon shrugs. “Well, there are places I could drop you off you _might_ be safe. Quetzal, Jorom, Seongsun, Titan IV. To be honest, though, you’ll probably be safer on the move in the long run.” He stares out one of the porthole windows for a moment before turning back to the doctor. “We never stop moving.”

 

“Wait… I’m confused,” Jin replies blankly. “No, actually, I think maybe _you’re_ confused.”

 

“I’ll put it to you simply, then, Dr. Kim. You may have noticed that this ship could use a medic and a cook. Lord knows Hobi tries his best with what we've got, but we ate better during the last meal you helped prepare than we have for the past five months. You’ve also got more passion than I’ve seen in entire crowds. I don’t exactly know how bright you are, Mr. ‘Broke-Into-A-Secure-Government-Facility-to-Rescue-My-Crazy-Brother,’ but you’ve got moxie, and that counts for a lot in my book. You abide by my rules, you keep your brother from doing anything… injudicious … and you could maybe find a place for yourself here. Until you find something better.”

 

Seokjin appears to be mulling this over, chewing on his bottom lip for a few seconds before looking back to the captain. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being just a wee bit paranoid, but… how do I know if I can trust you? You could be planning to just kill me in my sleep and turn Taehyung over to the authorities at the next port, for all I know.”

 

“Fair question. Listen closely, because I’m only going to answer it once: If I ever kill you, you’ll be awake, you’ll be facing me, and you’ll be armed.” The two men lock eyes for a long moment. Jin looks away first, appearing satisfied by what he sees.

 

“Are you always this sentimental?” he asks, smiling faintly.

 

“Yoongi would say so,” Namjoon shrugs. “But I’ve had worse days. At least we’re still flying.”

 

“That’s not much,” Jin says dubiously.

 

Namjoon looks out the porthole again. Almost to himself, he replies, “It’s enough.”

 

After a few more seconds, Jin leaves. Namjoon doesn’t watch him go. He thinks he hears a whispered “Thank you” right before the doctor leaves him alone with his thoughts and the ever-present rumble of the engines under his feet as he watches the stars speed by in an ocean of infinite black.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few other ideas for stories set in this AU, some that follow some of Firefly’s episode plots, and others that are entirely original, but I think it’s time I focused more on some of my other fics for now before I return to this ‘verse. Depending on the reception this gets, though, I might return to it sooner rather than later. Please consider leaving a comment telling me what you thought if you enjoyed. :> Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.


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